Silent Night
by cmar
Summary: Batman's new partnerships with Nightwing and Batwoman are torn apart when the Joker strikes in deadly fashion. Fourth in 'Birds of a Feather' series. Complete.
1. Prelude

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Based (loosely) on events in Batman 408 and Detective 485, also influenced by other stories and the animated series. 

This is set in the AU created in 'Birds of a Feather', in which Batman and Nightwing met years later than in the comics. Based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's with some elements from the present-day version, it includes _only_ the Golden/early Silver Age characters: principally Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Kathy Kane (the original Batwoman), and Barbara Gordon. 

Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist. 

This takes place at Christmas time but is not exactly a happy seasonal story. 

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Prelude

- - -

_How did this happen? _

It was quiet, only the soft sounds of machinery and the medicinal smells of a hospital room. Vaguely, he was grateful the police were keeping the reporters away. He stared at the form in the bed, at that face slack in unconsciousness, every breath an audible struggle. For a moment tears threatened, but he didn't let them fall. Can't let anyone see Batman cry. They'd take his lack of tears as further evidence that his heart really was as cold and hard as a stone. If only it were true. 

It was his fault, of course. All of it, since he'd made the mistake of helping Dick continue his career as Nightwing, since he'd grudgingly accepted Kathy as a partner. He had failed to protect them - he had led them into danger, let them down, and now what he had most feared had happened. 

Shadowy echoes of another night surrounded him for a moment, replacing the white walls with dingy brick, the tiled floor with dirty concrete, the faint murmur of activity from the hallway with the echo of footsteps and the low voice of a man stepping from the darkness, a stray beam of light catching the gun in his hand... 

With a chill of fear, Batman forced the memory back where it belonged, locked up securely with the child he had stopped being on that night. It had been years since it had come back to him so vividly, but he knew why it was here now, because it was happening all over again, in a different way. He leaned closer to the bed, watching each breath, trying to concentrate on more recent memories, and less painful ones. 

It had begun almost a year ago, when Dick and then Kathy had started down the road that had led inexorably to this day. When he had given in to what they wanted despite his better judgment, and even helped them to do it. You couldn't have stopped them, a voice at the back of his mind whispered logically. And yet... he should have. Should have done something, anything; persuaded them, fought them, locked them up in some forgotten room, made them see. Should have turned his back and not gotten involved in the first place... 

But... in a more immediate sense it had begun less than a week ago. Only a few days, and a lifetime, as his dazed and numbed mind drifted back, searching for something he might have done differently... 

- - -

The first thing he became aware of as he drifted up out of sleep was the light. Morning light, barely dampened by the thin curtains over his bedroom windows. Must have forgotten to draw the drapes, not a mistake he made often. Open them when he got up, catch a little sun and let its brilliance chase out the shadows of the night before, close them when he went to bed, often with the light of dawn already tinting the sky. 

But last night he had been distracted... Bruce stretched, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of a full night's comfortable sleep. Then he rolled onto his side, propping his head on one elbow, feeling a smile lift his lips as he watched the other occupant of the bed. 

Kathy's face was turned away from him but he could see her profile, framed by tumbled dark hair, her features relaxed in sleep. Or at least he thought so, but even as he raised a hand and gently drew the back of a finger over the line of her jaw, he saw her smile. 

"Sleepyhead," he said. 

"And I suppose you've been up for hours." She looked up at him, still blinking drowsily, shifting her weight to bring their bodies almost into contact. 

"That's right, I've already had breakfast and a workout," Bruce said, and then ruined it with a yawn. 

"Sure you have." She rolled closer still and ran her fingers slowly over his chest. "For an idle, lazy playboy, you're very - industrious." 

"Have to stay in shape. For the ladies." He raised his arm, flexing the biceps. 

"Very impressive. I hope the _ladies_ appreciate your finer qualities." 

"As long as one lady does." He glanced at her face, watching for a reaction, a little surprised at himself. Kathy was too, he saw her brows rise slightly before her lips curved. 

"Which one is that?" she asked, teasingly. 

"Just another rich, idle playgirl." He leaned forward to kiss her lightly. 

"Doesn't sound like your type," she murmured. 

"Mmm. She's not so bad." He changed the subject after another kiss. "You're still coming Friday night, aren't you?" 

"For Christmas Eve dinner? Wouldn't miss it. Dick and Barbara are coming, aren't they?" 

"Yeah, Dick seems to be looking forward to it. The kid probably hasn't had too many Christmas parties in his life." 

"Or any other kind. It's nice, what you're doing for him." 

Vaguely embarrassed by the light in her eyes as she looked at him, Bruce shrugged. "It's just going to be the four of us, and Alfred does the work. No big deal." 

"I mean the way you've - you've taken him under your wing. The way you treat him almost like a son." 

"I'm _not_ his father," Bruce said, more emphatically than he intended. 

"No one said you were." 

"I'm not even old enough to be his father. The whole idea's ridiculous." 

"It wasn't an insult, you know." 

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." 

He saw her watching him, and told himself that the annoyance he felt made no sense. What she had said had been meant as a compliment, but somehow it had struck a chord, one he didn't especially want to hear. Family, children... a wife... None of it was for him, not when he couldn't give the kind of things they would need, not when every night there was a significant chance he would never come home. And yet - she was right, in a way. Somehow over the months his relationship with Dick had turned into something compounded of not only partnership and friendship, not just teacher and student, mentor and protégé, but something that felt like - like brothers... or maybe father and son... 

_I must be getting soft..._ he looked at Kathy again, dark hair spread on the pillow, smiling slightly as if she knew what he was thinking. She was another part of his life that had taken him by surprise. He had never felt this close to a woman before, not even Julie, to whom he had been engaged when he was too young to know better. Whether it was her good nature, the playfulness that lightened his darker moods, or maybe her career as Batwoman that was so like his own as Batman, he wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that it felt somehow so right to be with her - especially when he could reach out and feel the warmth of her bare skin... 

"I think I need another workout," he said. 

"One wasn't enough?" Her eyes sparkled in amusement. 

"Just a warmup." 

"So what's your idea of the main event?" 

"You'll find out." He leaned closer, his fingers brushing her hair and then slowly stroking down the smooth skin of her shoulder and arm, taking the edge of the sheet with it. 

"Show me..." she said, her voice dropping into a whisper, her hand coming up to caress the back of his neck. 

A smile was her only answer, until Bruce brought his lips down on hers. 

- - -

"You still haven't told her, have you?" Dick's voice sounded slightly impatient, just a bit disgusted, with overtones of amusement. His expression matched his tone, except for the alertness of his eyes as the two of them circled on a padded practice mat in the Batcave. 

"No reason to." Bruce watched, feinted to his right, and smiled inwardly when Dick blocked without leaving an opening. The kid was learning fast. 

Kid. It didn't seem like the right word anymore. It had been close to a year now since he had first met a determined but very young man on a dangerous mission of revenge, a mission that had reminded him so powerfully of his own that he had felt an instant and unexpectedly powerful bond between them. It was a bond that had led him to offer his help even beyond the point of bringing the killers of Dick's parents to justice, and which had led him to take the irreversible step of sharing his identity. A bond that had resulted in what had become a lasting partnership. 

"You've been going out with her again for months." Dick swung a punch which Bruce blocked easily. 

"So?" 

"You're sleeping with her." He jumped forward, kicking out suddenly at Bruce's knees. 

A twinge of annoyance made Bruce frown as he stepped back in time to dodge. "Again, so?" he answered. 

"But you can't tell her the truth." 

Bruce let his hands drop slightly. "According to you she already knows, so what's the difference?" 

"If you want the relationship to work, you have to be honest." 

"I can handle my relationships just fine-" But Bruce knew he had made a mistake as soon as he lost focus long enough to let his guard down for an instant. Dick leaped into a spin kick at his head, which he ducked almost too late. But he was off-balance as Dick continued his motion into a low sweeping kick that Bruce was forced to jump over. The next moment, Dick's shoulder was catching him in the chest, knocking him onto his back. 

He tucked into a back-roll and was on his feet again almost instantly, but Dick was ready, shooting a kick that would have connected with his groin if it had been carried through. "Nice," Bruce said, a little grudgingly. "Very nice." 

"Like you always say, a distracted enemy gives you an advantage." 

"Yeah, guess I shouldn't have let myself get angry during a fight." 

Dick blinked, the smile fading, and straightened slightly. "Hey, I'm sorry, didn't mean to say anything-" 

And Bruce made his move: a quick punch to draw Dick's attention, a leg hooked behind his knees, a push; and Dick was on his back with Bruce's elbow stopping just short of smashing into his face. 

"You were saying, about distraction...?" 

"Okay, you got me." Dick climbed back to his feet as Bruce got up and reached a hand down to help him. "So you're not mad?" he asked after a moment, his casual tone belied by an anxious glance. 

"Of course not." Bruce turned away from his look of relief as they moved through a few stretches. 

"I mean, I haven't told Barbara the truth either, so I wasn't criticizing." 

"Don't worry about it." If Dick had a flaw, it was his tendency to be insecure. _Especially where I'm concerned..._ He frowned at the inner comment. He was aware of Dick's exaggerated ideas of him as a hero and role model, and they never failed to make him uncomfortable, with the implication that he had to live up to them. Like a father setting an example for his son. Shaking off the unwelcome thought, he took a couple of seconds to pull off his t-shirt, grab a towel, and toss one to Dick before heading for the shower. 

But as he stood under the flow of warm water, washing away the sweat of hard exercise and reaching for, but not finding, the relaxed state he usually felt after a good workout, it came back to him. Whether or not Dick had meant it only to annoy and distract him, his words refused to fade. _If you want the relationship to work, you have to be honest._

Did he want this to work? Many times he had told himself it didn't matter, that there was no room in his life for love or commitment, that all he could expect would be temporary and casual liaisons, that anything deeper wouldn't be fair to the woman. He had never really regretted the lack before; loneliness was simply a small part of the price he willingly paid for the life he had chosen. It was easier that way. Simpler. Safer. But now, somehow, Kathy Kane had turned it all upside down. 

He sighed. A partner. A girlfriend. He really _was_ getting soft. 

- - -

_The form in the bed stirred uneasily, and a low moan came to Batman's ears. He leaned forward tensely, but the chest continued to move, rising and falling steadily. Was the sound of breathing a little easier? Or was it just his imagination, refusing to lose hope? He was too exhausted, too numb, to give it much thought. _

Faint sounds drifted through the door, the scuff of footsteps, a cheerful voice saying, "Merry Christmas!" Was it Christmas yet? Could this long, terrible ordeal, this darkest of nights, possibly have become Christmas? He had no strength and no will to check the time. Instead he let his mind drift again as he leaned back into his chair. It had been later that same night, when he was having dinner under Alfred's watchful eye and planning his schedule. Plans that were instantly forgotten when he heard the news on the radio... 

- - -

"Sir, at least finish your supper first." 

"You heard it. The Joker's made his first move. I have to get going." 

"The robbery is over; he's long gone. The police are there. Whatever clue he may have left can wait ten more minutes." 

"I guess you're right." Bruce sat down again and began to eat, but his appetite was gone. After a few more bites he sat back and sipped his coffee, barely aware of Alfred's resigned sigh. 

"The Joker. How many times has he escaped now?" he muttered. 

"Altogether too many times. One wonders at the quality of the security at Arkham Asylum." 

Bruce snorted. "One wonders indeed. Damn place is too progressive if you ask me. And now he's loose again." 

"And he robbed a toy store. Interesting choice." 

Bruce glanced up, and smiled to find Alfred's eyes sparkling with all the enthusiasm of the amateur detective that he was. "Not just any toy store. The biggest one in Gotham, catering to the rich and famous. Must have been a good haul. At least this time no one got hurt." 

"Yes, sir." That brought a concerned look into Alfred's face as he looked down. "Sir..." 

"I know," Bruce replied to the unspoken 'Be careful.' A moment later he was on his feet, reaching to pat Alfred's shoulder before heading for the study and the stairs down to the Batcave. 

- - -

Gordon had left his window unlocked, the way he had taken to doing when he expected a visit. That was something else that had changed in the last year: a closer relationship with the police in general and Gordon in particular. In some ways risky... one of his rules was never to get close to the same person as Batman and as Bruce Wayne. The mask and the disguised voice could hide only so much. Yet now he'd done it twice, with Kathy and with Gordon. Not that he couldn't trust both of them to keep whatever they had guessed to themselves. 

Batman clung to his perch on the window ledge, taking the time for another look over the city spread out below him. A cold sharp wind wrapped his cape around him, a few stray snowflakes landing on his face to chill his skin for a moment before melting. The city lights shone, mapping out streets and avenues, glittering from tall buildings, as cold and bright as a scattering of diamonds in the dark of night. His city. Beautiful and dangerous. His to protect. 

He slipped through the window into a brighter and warmer world, shutting it silently behind him. James Gordon sat at his desk, head leaning on one hand, a pile of paperwork before him, looking tired and perhaps discouraged. Batman watched him for a few seconds before stepping closer, making enough noise to attract his attention. 

Gordon didn't even blink. "Been expecting you," he said. 

"You should go home. Get some rest." 

"Home?" He said it as if the word was unfamiliar. "Not yet. Not with the Joker to worry about." 

"Tell me about the robbery tonight." Batman pulled up an empty chair and sat down. 

Gordon sighed and combed his fingers through thinning gray hair. "The short version... The Joker's already managed to get most of his old gang together. They hit at midnight. Only the cleaning crew there. Tied them up, took a little cash." 

"Only a little?" 

"The registers are cleared when the store closes. Not much there. It appears cash wasn't what he was after." 

"What then?" 

"Toys." Gordon smiled at his expression. "It's a toy store, after all, and that's what he took. Not just any toys, but the most expensive ones in the place." 

"Hmm..." Batman paused thoughtfully. "They have some antiques, don't they? And some one-of-a-kind items." 

"Right. Luxury train sets worth thousands. Rare dolls. Collector's items. That's the kind of stuff he took." 

"Hard to sell." 

"Money's only part of what the Joker's after. You know that." 

"Yes. I know." There was another pause. No one knew better than Batman that logic and sense had little part in whatever the Joker was likely to be up to. And yet... "He always has a plan. A theme. And what he does always benefits him in some way. He'll find a buyer for whatever he took. And he'll show up again." 

"Unfortunately." 

"Did he leave anything?" 

"The usual." Gordon held it up, an ordinary-looking playing card. A joker. 

Batman took it from him and examined it carefully, but found nothing. He frowned at the picture, that harlequin's face so like the Joker's own, down to the unnatural grin that was an expression of violent menace instead of friendliness or amusement. "Where was it?" he asked. 

"In a display case, tossed on the floor." 

"Anything taken from that case?" 

Gordon smiled slightly. "An antique mechanical clown. Right up his alley. Also very valuable." 

"Yeah..." 

"You think it means anything?" 

"Too soon to tell. Thanks." He got up and paused long enough to say, "I'm sure we'll be hearing from him again," before heading back in the direction of the window. 

"Be careful." The soft voice stopped him. "The Joker hates you. Whatever he's up to, chances are revenge on you is a large part of it." 

"I know." Batman turned back to see the older man's face shadowed under harsh light on gray hair. "A lot of people hate me. I can handle it." And yet he carried an uneasy feeling with him as he threw the window open and climbed out into cold night air and a thin swirl of snow. 

- - -

_I can handle it. But how could I expect them to? _

His mind retreated from the thought, but it persisted, gnawing at his heart as he watched and waited for the body in the bed to stop breathing. 'Touch and go,' the doctors had said. 'We've done our best. No guarantees. Full recovery is possible in a situation like this, when the person is young and healthy.' 

But what were youth and health against three bullets? 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	2. Overture

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

With thanks to my 'action scene beta', Rach aka The Fink. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Overture

- - -

_He stood at the window, staring into the night, at the few stars that managed to be seen despite the lights of the city. The occasional stir of footsteps and murmur of voices from outside the room had almost disappeared in the past hours, as he stood vigil. The lights had dimmed long ago. In the quiet it seemed like forever he had been here, with only his own grief and guilt for company. _

There was another soft sound from the bed. Batman turned to look, and saw a brief stir of movement, only a twitch of a hand, a slight turning of the head. Was it a good sign? He watched, and saw nothing more. 

Turning to the window again, Batman closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind. But his self-discipline failed him; the memories continued to come. It had been a dark, cold night like this one when the next event in the chain that ended here had taken place. A dark night, only two days after the Joker's first robbery. The three of them, Nightwing, Batwoman, and himself, had decided to split up and patrol the city, in hopes that one of them would be close if he struck again... 

The Batmobile glided down almost empty streets, only an occasional pedestrian giving it a quick glance and, often, scurrying for the nearest hiding place. The kind of people who tended to be out at this time of night were not the kind who found the Batman's presence reassuring. Luckily for them, he was after bigger game tonight. 

His gloved hand reached out to touch the radio communicator's controls. It took only a moment for the light indicating a successful connection to come on. "Anything yet?" he asked. 

_"Nope,"_ Nightwing's voice answered. _"Just the usual night life."_

"Keep monitoring the police bands." 

_"I know. I am."_

"And don't-" 

_"Don't go after the Joker alone. He's dangerous. I know."_ Nightwing's voice was impatient and dismissive. 

"I mean it. Contact me if anything happens." 

_"Will do."_ At least the kid sounded serious this time. 

Batman broke contact and switched to another channel. This time Batwoman's voice answered his question of, "Anything?" 

_"No. I'm getting bored. And it's cold on this 'cycle. And I'm hungry."_

"Anytime you want to go home, just let me know." 

_"Are you kidding? If the two of you can take it, so can I."_

"Glad to hear it." He let a trace of warmth enter his voice. "I guess I already told you to be careful." 

_"At least five times. But I appreciate the thought."_

"Okay. Stay in touch." He disconnected again. 

A soft murmur of voices from the police bands accompanied him as he continued on his way, watching the streets become brighter and more busy as he began to work his way downtown. The Batmobile also began to attract more curious stares and pointing fingers. He didn't like being conspicuous like this, much preferred shadows and rooftops, but there was no help for it. Batman surveyed the sideways and the storefronts lining them. This was the kind of neighborhood the Joker would find tempting: upscale department stores, jewelry stores, boutiques, electronics. Crowds of wealthy shoppers during the day, cash and valuables at night. 

And more of both at this time of year. The windows were lavishly decorated and garishly lit, glittering with elaborate Christmas displays. Idly he wondered how much money was invested in each of them - and how good the security precautions were. That was when his ear picked out one voice from the chatter coming over the police radio. 

_"Alarm at 43rd and Fifth - Spangler Electronics. Possible break-in."_

A big, rich, conspicuous target, typical of the Joker. Batman remembered passing it only minutes ago, and noticing the mechanically animated figure of Santa Claus in the window. It was only a few blocks back. He pulled into a fast turn and accelerated. 

- - -

The first thing he saw was a shattered window, the wreckage of what had once been a carefully planned display of merchandise, a few larger items still there along with a mass of red and green ornaments, some of which had been thrown to the floor. They would have taken the smaller, more valuable stuff: laptops, PDAs, digital cameras... Strangely, they had also taken the mechanical Santa Claus. 

The alarm had gone off only minutes ago. Had he just missed them? Or were they still here, inside? Only a glance located the door, the protective gates with their bars cut through, the locks broken. They hadn't been subtle about it, another thing that was typical of the Joker. 

The police would be there in minutes. Batman paused long enough to contact his partners, then without waiting for a response he was out of the car. Something in the ruined window caught his eye and he stopped for a moment, leaning close enough to recognize one of the Joker's calling cards. He stared at it for only a moment before sliding silently through the partially open door. 

Inside, darkness greeted him. Batman could feel his nerves sharpen, his mind quicken. There was a sound - the faint echo of a voice, the clatter of something falling, a footstep. And then another sound that sent a shiver down his spine: a hollow, humorless laugh. He recognized it instantly. 

No movement, no sign of danger as he moved deeper inside through a landscape of shelves stacked with computers, printers, and their associated supplies. The voices grew louder as he entered a land of televisions, silent now, their screen darkened, flanked by VCRs and DVD players. Then telephones, a few boxes thrown to the floor. Stereo equipment, speakers looming out of the shadows, receivers in neat stacks. 

The sounds had faded... he heard a click, like a door opening or closing... hurried toward it, hesitated between the Nintendos and the GameBoys, and heard that laugh again. Too close, much too close - he melted into the shadows, backing off, circling behind. 

"Looking for something, Batman?" 

The voice was as filled with confident malice as he remembered. Batman crouched. Cautiously, he peered around a display shelf. 

"Or should I say some_one_?" 

That arrogant clown would keep talking, and lead the way right to him... Batman stayed low as he followed the voice, taking advantage of the cover of the displays around him. 

"I didn't want you to be disappointed, so I stayed. Just for you. Don't you feel special?" 

Batman frowned. There was no mistaking the implied threat. He slowed, scanning his surroundings for any sign of a trap. 

"Aren't you going to come out and play, Batman? I'm getting lonely!" 

The voice was near. Batman could hear footsteps; the Joker was making no effort to hide. They sounded across the floor, echoing oddly under the high ceiling, impossible to tell exactly where he was with all the shelving and other objects. If it was hard for him, it would be hard for the Joker, too. Might as well distract him. 

"This isn't a game, Joker, and I'm not laughing." 

"As always, you have no sense of humor. I suppose I'll be going..." 

Was that a shadow moving, or the tall, thin figure of a man? Batman hurried, for a moment forgetting caution; if he could catch the Joker here, away from his men, maybe he could end this right now with no one getting hurt. There was more movement as he entered a back room filled with boxes, then a moment of dim light: a door opening, that same tall form framed in it before it disappeared. 

With a muttered "Damn!" Batman ran after him, throwing himself into a roll as he dived through the doorway. The precaution was unnecessary, all he saw as he came back to his feet was the Joker running down the alleyway, away from the street. He charged into pursuit. 

There was another laugh, holding a note of wild excitement, as the Joker reached a fire escape. The ladder had already been extended to the ground, and he began to climb. A part of Batman's mind realized that the ladder had probably been left that way, that all this had been planned, but he didn't slow down. 

As he climbed, the Joker reached the rooftop and turned back. A flash of light reflected off something in his hand... Batman swung himself to the other side of the ladder just in time, as a shot rang out. More laughter, and he saw his quarry running again. 

Another shot as he reached the roof, but he was prepared and ducked down to let it fly over him. The Joker had reached the edge of the roof, and without breaking stride stepped up on the low edge wall and leaped across to the next building. Batman raced after him, catching a glimpse of the bottom of another alley beneath him as he sailed over the gap to the next roof. The chase continued, another building, another dangerous leap at full speed with the thin, cold winter air whistling past his ears, another jolting but safe landing. Up here, the city lights and sidewalks left behind, it seemed almost like another world, one which contained only himself and the bizarre figure he was pursuing. 

He could hear sirens behind them. The police, arriving at the electronics store, probably with Batwoman and Nightwing right behind. They wouldn't catch up, not in time to make any difference. 

The Joker had stopped, and turned. Batman caught a glimpse of dead-white skin, green hair, and red lips in the moonlight as he ducked behind a service shed. There was a lot of equipment on this rooftop: another shed, a set of pipes large enough to hide a man in the darkness. He began to work his way closer. 

"So, you _do_ want to play. I'm _so_ pleased." 

He hadn't had a chance to reload, must be only a few more bullets in that gun, worth taking a chance on making him waste them. "This isn't a game, Joker," Batman called back. 

"Life's a game, Batman. You just fail to see the humor." 

"Nothing funny in hurting people. Stealing from them." 

"Pfftt. People. Less than nothing to you or me." 

"Speak for yourself." He moved as silently as he could, using a pipe for cover. 

"Oh, come now." The Joker's voice dripped with scorn. "Don't tell me those milling masses of cretins below actually mean anything to you." 

"All right, I won't tell you." 

"You and I are as far above them as - as eagles above the pigeons scrounging for breadcrumbs on the street." 

"Eagles. Right." Batman slid behind the second shed, only a few yards away from his target. 

"That's why I value you so highly, Batman. You're not quite my equal, but close. Our little contests are one of the few challenges in my life. I'll almost regret it when inevitably they reach an end." 

"When's that going to be?" 

"When I kill you, of course. Perhaps even tonight. Too bad, you and I are so much alike - both brilliant, both dedicated. Both so good at what we do. Both violent. We're two sides of the same coin..." 

Batman frowned. The Joker had said the same thing before, more than once, and it never failed to anger him as it was doing now. Which was probably why the Joker kept saying it. Why he was saying it now, to make Batman act recklessly... He took a deep breath and concentrated on the task at hand, getting closer without being seen. Time to stop talking, and to slide around the other side of the shed, behind another pipe. 

"Batman? Still there?" The Joker laughed softly and mockingly. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." 

He was as close as he was going to get, and the Joker had his back turned... Batman sprang to his feet, vaulted over the pipe, and hit the rooftop running, already gathering himself for a tackle. He saw a grin as his opponent whirled, a triumphant tilt in it, and realized this must be a setup, somehow; it was a trap... 

A spray of liquid droplets hit the exposed part of his face, stinging, bringing with them a thick, choking, bitter smell. He gagged, and began to cough, eyes tearing. But he didn't stop. Still at full speed, he barreled into the Joker, bringing them both down with a jarring impact. They rolled, struggling, but he was still coughing, almost unable to breathe, his vision blurred. 

The Joker was struggling to his feet... landing a vicious kick on Batman's chest, knocking him back down. But he was up again in a heartbeat, ignoring pain and lack of oxygen as he grabbed the green-haired man from behind, yanked him around, and drove a fist into that hideous, grinning face. The Joker reeled back, staggered, his back hit the guard wall around the roof... 

"Watch out!" Batman shouted. But it was too late; he caught a glimpse of another triumphant grin, a snatch of mocking laughter, as the Joker rolled over the wall and dropped from view. A few steps took him to the edge - he leaned over - it took a few seconds for his eyes to clear enough to see anything in the darkness below. 

There was something down there, a large square mass, lighter than the alley floor, undulating with a slightly billowing motion. Something - someone - scrambled off it, and slid to the ground. Cushioning, he realized, padding, the kind of thing stuntmen used for a fall. A white face raised to look up at him... that laugh again, rising in the cold air. Cursing, Batman shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his vision, braced a hand on the roof wall, and started to climb over, peering down... 

"No! Batman, stop!" The shout had hardly penetrated his consciousness when two pairs of hands were grabbing him, pulling him back. Nightwing and Batwoman. 

But he had already seen it: the padding below was deflating, flattening out, a large rip in the upper surface gaping at him like an empty grin. The Joker must have cut it as he climbed off. Batman grabbed for a line from his belt and fastened the small grappling hook attached to it to the roof wall. Batwoman and Nightwing were already over the edge, sliding down their own lines with the grace and speed of the trained acrobats they were. 

Batman dropped to the ground only a moment after them. All three headed in the direction the Joker had fled at a run, rounding a corner only to see a car pulling away from the curb, a quick flash of a clown face grinning back at them, leaving a trail of laughter. 

- - -

"Damn it..." Batman muttered, fists clenching. "I should have had him." 

"It was all a trap," Nightwing said reasonably. "Look, he had minicams set up. He could see exactly what you were doing." 

They were back on the roof where the Joker had confronted him and then made his bold leap to freedom. Batman had almost recovered from the encounter, left with only stinging eyes, a sore throat, aching knuckles - and his bruised pride. He looked up as Batwoman pointed out a small round object mounted on a service shed wall. 

"He must have had a wireless handheld or something to display the image," she said. 

"So when I made my move, he was ready." 

"With some kind of teargas, I guess," Nightwing said. 

"Yeah, sprayed from a lapel flower. He loves that kind of gimmick. And he had that air mattress ready for a quick getaway." 

"And as a trap for you. He must have hoped you'd jump after him." 

"No, too easy. He didn't seriously think I'd fall for it." Batman turned away and looked back in the direction of the electronics store. "How'd you find me?" 

"We got here at the same time, just before the police. Heard gunshots from the roof, and figured the action had moved up here." 

"I see. Well, might as well head back. See if the cops found anything." 

But Batwoman blocked his way, arms crossed and head tilted, face set in a disapproving expression. "The Joker is very dangerous. Don't try to go up against him alone," she said in a poor imitation of himself. 

"Doesn't apply to me." 

"Why's that?" 

"I know the Joker. Know his tricks. I'm prepared to deal with him." 

He half expected her to make some sarcastic remark about how well he had dealt with his green-haired opponent tonight, but she only smiled. "You're not Superman, you know," she said softly. 

"I'm very well aware of that." 

"Could have fooled me..." The quiet mutter came from Nightwing. He grinned up at Batman. Batwoman ineffectively hid a laugh behind her hand. 

- - -

_Batman crossed to the bed and looked down. He watched, looking for any sign of improvement, and saw only the same harsh breathing, a restless movement of closed eyes, an expression that seemed to broadcast pain and fear even in unconsciousness. _

Very different from the way they had looked that night... Both smiling at him, both so full of vitality; the way Kathy's eyes had sparkled behind her mask, the way Dick had grinned. All gone now, except for the pale, strained face of the patient fighting for life in this bed, and the memory of that other face which would never smile again. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	3. First Act

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

First Act

- - -

_Batman woke with a start, pulling himself out of a half-sleeping haze filled with mocking laughter, dark faceless shapes, and the distant sound of gunfire sending a pang of unreasoning terror through his heart. For a few seconds he blinked in confusion, unsure of where he was. _

But it all came back. He struggled against it, but he knew it was real; it had happened, and all the wishing in the world could not erase that terrible reality. 

A look at the bed showed no change that he could see. Batman turned his eyes to the window next, to see a faint gleam of moonlight. The background sounds of the hospital were gone now, the patients asleep, the night shift going silently about their business. The dead of night... 

In the quiet, he leaned back into his chair again and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax and get some rest. But as he sank toward the surface of dreams again, the images that had burned themselves into his mind began to replay...He grimaced, and tried to go back further, to remember how happy they had all been, how they had talked and laughed... only hours ago... but it seemed to have happened in another lifetime... 

- - -

"Would anyone care for an after-dinner eggnog?" Alfred's eyes gleamed with enjoyment despite his austere British façade as he stood in the living room doorway. Bruce restrained a smile. Alfred loved presiding over what he annoyingly referred to as their 'family' events. After being greeted with an assenting chorus, the butler continued, "With or without holiday cheer?" 

"Without," Barbara said. "I'm driving." 

"Me too," came from Dick. 

"And me," Kathy added with a twinkle at Bruce that somehow made it a question. 

"I'll make it unanimous," he said. It was a party, true, but better to skip the rum. Some instinct told him he might need a clear head, and he couldn't forget the Joker was still out there free, somewhere. He'd probably consider it a fine joke to strike again on Christmas Eve. 

And somehow that was where the conversation headed, when Barbara brought the topic up. "I hope Dad remembers it's Christmas tomorrow," she said, frowning a little. "What with the Joker, he's hardly been home." 

"Yes," Bruce murmured. "That's what makes him such a good police commissioner." 

Barbara offered him a faint smile. "True. But it's rough on him. He's not that young anymore. Should be starting to take it easy." Her eyes clouded. "The stress is starting to get to him... his heart..." 

"Is he having health problems?" They all looked at her, alarmed. 

"Well... a little high blood pressure. Not enough exercise. That kind of thing." She gave them an uneasy glance. 

"Just like Jim, to take care of the city and not of himself," Kathy said. "You should have a talk with him, Bruce." 

"Me? Why me?" 

"No - I shouldn't have said anything," Barbara protested. "It's nothing, really." She smiled. "Anyway, I made him promise to get home at a reasonable time tonight. If nothing happens with the Joker, anyway." 

"Then let's hope it doesn't," Dick said, leaning a little closer to her on the sofa and taking her hand. 

Kathy pulled her jeans-clad legs up and curled into the armchair she was sitting in. "I wonder what the Joker's story is, anyway," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, he's obviously crazy. I wonder what happened to make him that way." 

Both she and Dick looked at Bruce. "Nobody really knows," he answered. "Right, Barbara?" 

"Right. Even the times he's been in jail and in Arkham, he's never said anything about his past. Dad said it's like he just appeared out of nowhere a few years ago." She frowned again. "And it's like he's just - evil. No explanation for it, no reason. Just pure evil, like he's some kind of - of monster or something, almost not human..." She blinked. "Of course that's not true, but..." 

"I'm not so sure," Bruce muttered. "Evil exists; I've seen it. And if anyone's a monster, the Joker is." 

Dick's voice broke the moments of silence that followed. "Just the way he looks... I wonder if that has something to do with it, if something happened to him that drove him crazy, like Two-Face." 

Bruce kept quiet, letting Barbara answer again. "He's been examined when he was in custody," she said. "No evidence of scarring, just that bizarre coloring. It's not makeup or hair dye. They thought it might be some kind of poisoning; he's got high levels of some unusual chemicals, but he's not sick, not physically anyway. The doctors say he's insane, of course, and whatever caused his appearance might have caused that too." 

"So he gets a ride to Arkham, instead of to death row," Bruce said, with more bitterness in his voice than he had intended. 

"You think he should be executed? Even if something's made him the way he is, through no fault of his own?" Kathy asked. 

"He'll never reform. He'll always be a killer. Even if something 'made' him that way, is it any different from what makes anyone a criminal? No, he should take responsibility for his actions the same way everyone else has to. If the system can't keep him behind bars, can't guarantee he won't get out - you can't say the world wouldn't be better off without him." 

"Well, that's true," Dick said. "But still, I don't like the idea of the death penalty. Sometimes there's mistakes, and innocent people are executed, and by the time the truth is found out it's too late for them." 

"That's pretty rare," Bruce said. 

"How do you know, for sure? Besides, isn't it better to keep them all in jail rather than execute one innocent person?" 

"I don't think the death penalty is wrong in principle," Barbara said. "I think it's appropriate in some cases. What bothers me about it is that it's not applied fairly. If you're poor, if you're a minority, if you don't have a good lawyer..." She shrugged. 

"I don't like it at all," Kathy said. "The idea of officially killing people is just - kind of repulsive to me. But... in the Joker's case, with someone who's that dangerous, and there's no question of his guilt... I just don't know." 

"Well, he's got his insanity defense to hide behind," Dick commented. "So I guess it won't happen to him anyway." 

"Insanity." Bruce's eyes narrowed. "He's smart. Clever. Completely rational. Able to plan his crimes out and get away from the police. I wouldn't call him insane." 

"Wouldn't you?" Kathy asked. "What he's doing is certainly crazy, even if he does it in a sane way." 

"Crazy?" Alfred's voice came from the doorway, as he entered with a tray carrying their drinks. "Anyone I am acquainted with?" 

"We're talking about the Joker," Dick told him. "Whether or not he's really insane. What do you think?" 

"Ah. I would say that it hardly matters. The Joker is a thief and a murderer, and must be treated as such." 

"Very wise," Bruce said. 

"Naturally, sir. I also have a theory on where he may strike next." 

"Really?" Barbara was laughing up at him. "I didn't know you're so interested in crime." 

"I wasn't always a butler, you know, Miss. After I gave up the London stage, I considered a career as a detective. I still like to match my wits against those of the various criminals of Gotham City." 

"So - where _do_ you think the Joker will show up? And when?" Dick asked. 

"As for when, I doubt he will be able to resist committing a crime either tonight, on Christmas Eve, or tomorrow. Where - he has always had a liking for jewelry, and recently has stolen from two prominent downtown stores." 

"So you think it'll be one of the big jewelry stores." 

"Daddy's mentioned that," Barbara said. "He's increased coverage of the diamond district." 

"Like that place that's got the emerald Christmas tree," Bruce said thoughtfully. "You know, the window display with the tree made with real gemstones, with diamonds and rubies for ornaments." 

"Christal's. That would be a pretty tempting target for the Joker," Kathy commented, her eyes sharp with interest. 

"I don't know. He robbed a toy store and an electronics store so far," Dick said. "Both places where people do Christmas shopping. I think his next target's going to be another place like that, maybe one of the big department stores." 

"You could be right. Maybe he's tired of jewelry." 

Barbara grinned at all of them. "Looks like I'm surrounded by amateur detectives," she said. 

"No." Bruce put a casual smile on his face. "I think we're all glad to leave the police work to your father." 

"Speaking of whom, I'd better get going. Make sure he really comes home tonight, and gets some rest." She stood up. "Thanks for dinner, Bruce. It was great. Nice seeing you again, Kathy." 

Dick was up too. "I'll walk you out." After a few more goodnights, they headed for the front door. 

Kathy sat back, finished her eggnog, and watched Bruce with a faint smile on her lips as Alfred busied himself with clearing away the empty glasses and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. 

"What?" Bruce finally asked with a raised brow. 

"Mmm. Just thinking." Her smile grew. "This was nice. Dinner with friends. Kind of - comfortable and homey. Like family." 

"Yeah, I guess." He straightened in his chair, vaguely uneasy. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to make it an early night. Sorry." 

"Don't be. I was about to go anyway." She came to her feet. "Suddenly I have the strange urge to check out the stores downtown. Don't suppose you'd be interested?" 

"Maybe some other time." Bruce paused. He hadn't missed the gleam in her eye, or the hint of disappointment in her expression at his answer. _She knows,_ he told himself. _She knows; it's obvious that she does. She's just waiting for me to say it. Why not just admit it?_ Why not indeed? They were alike, the two of them, almost as much as Dick and himself. Why couldn't he take this step, why couldn't he be honest with her? She could certainly be trusted, and it could make things so much better; for him and Kathy, for Batman and Batwoman. 

"Kathy..." he found himself saying. He got up and faced her, taking her hands. "Look, I guess we need to talk." 

"What about?" 

He smiled at her wary expression. "It's time I told you something. I think you might like what I have to say." 

"Talking could be good." She stepped closer, leaning her body against him, her face lifted. 

He kissed her, just a gentle pressure at first, then deeper as his arms went around her and her lips parted under his. Her eyes were glowing with a soft, warming light when he raised his head to look at her again. "We'll be busy tonight... How about tomorrow?" he asked. "Dinner. Just you and me. We can talk about - things." 

"Things. I can't wait." She grinned and stretched up to press a quick kiss on his mouth. "Maybe I'll see even see you later." 

"Maybe." He matched her smile and held onto her fingers as she stepped back, chuckling as they finally let their hands slip apart. 

By the time Dick returned his smile was gone, his mind turning to the night's business. He glanced up at his partner's expectant look. "Kathy's going out tonight," he said. "Probably the big stores downtown." 

"That sounds like our best bet to me, too." 

"I don't know..." He remembered seeing the window of Christal's, that elaborate bejeweled Christmas tree. Exactly the kind of thing the Joker would go for, flashy and very valuable. Reaching a decision, he met Dick's eyes. "Contact Kathy and meet her downtown. The two of you can cover that area. I'll be in the diamond district. If anything happens..." 

"I know, call you." Dick was already turning for the door, reaching in his pocket for his car keys. He turned in the doorway and pointed a finger. "The same goes for you, too." 

"Don't worry about me," Bruce said absently, his mind already out in the night, sifting through his memories of the buildings around Christal's in search of a good watching place. 

- - -

_In a silent, darkened hospital room, Batman stirred and pressed a hand over his eyes, trying to hold on to those happier images, trying to fix them forever in his mind so he would never forget. With a bright, sharp stab of longing, he wished that he could go back and relive just those few hours, step back into that room and have the chance to stop what would come next. But of course he couldn't. Against his will, his mind rushed on. The last links in a deadly chain of events were being forged as he crouched on a rooftop, watching the cheerful flash and glitter of holiday windows..._

- - -

The jewelry store owners weren't fools. Most of the precious gems in the windows had been removed for the night and locked up, the doors and windows covered with metal gates. But the emerald Christmas tree was still on display, visible behind a layer of thick bars and reinforced glass. It would also be protected by alarms; any attempt to steal it would bring the police running. 

Maybe Kathy had been right, this was too obvious. The Joker loved to be clever, to outwit the law. He also always operated in a pattern. So what was the pattern this time? Christmas? Stores where people shopped for Christmas gifts? But that made no sense; almost every store in Gotham would fit that description. There had to be more. 

With only two robberies to go on, it wouldn't be easy. Think. What did those two stores have in common? Toys, electronics... a lot of toys were electronic nowadays. Was that it? But the antique toys that had been stolen weren't electronic or even mechanical - except for the animated clown doll taken from a window display... 

Batman tensed abruptly. The clown doll. The robotic Santa in the electronics store display. Both animated. Was that it? And did it indicate a likely next target? Yes, he realized. Bach's department store. Famous for windows filled with animated elves, reindeer, scenes of children receiving gifts. Also famous for the luxurious and expensive clothes, furs, decorations, and jewelry it sold. A spectacular crime for Christmas Eve. It all fit. 

He was in the wrong place, and in the wrong part of town, he was sure of it. With a quick motion, Batman had his secure cellphone out. 

Nightwing's voice answered in seconds. _"What's up?"_

"I think I know where the Joker's going to hit. How far are you from Bach's?" 

_"Ten minutes maybe."_

"Good." Batman explained his theory in as few words as possible. "Is Batwoman with you?" 

Her voice answered. _"I'm right here. We'll head over there now."_

"I'll meet you there." 

But he hesitated. What if he was wrong? Logic wasn't exactly the Joker's strong suit, making him hard to outguess. And yet, that inner voice of instinct he had learned to trust over the years told Batman he was right. 

Within five minutes he was back inside the Batmobile, pulling into the sparse nighttime traffic, impatient to get there. No real need to rush, he told himself, no reason to think anything would happen in the next few minutes. But that same little voice in the back of his mind whispered, _Hurry..._

Perhaps ten minutes later he was pulling over in front of the huge department store, feeling both a chill of alarm and a sense of déjà vu as he saw another looted window, the mechanical figures gone as well as the valuables that had been on display. In their place lay one of the Joker's cards again, grinning up at him like a death's head. 

Nightwing's and Batwoman's motorcycles had been left a few yards away; they must have gone inside. With a muttered curse Batman spotted a door which had been forced open. The howl of approaching sirens came to his ears, then faded as he moved into the ominous dimness of the store's interior. 

As he hesitated, wondering which way to go and whether to try calling his partners, another sound came from farther inside the building, faint but unmistakable. The harsh crack of distant gunfire. 

- - -

_If only he'd gotten there sooner. If only the Joker had gotten there later. Batman climbed to his feet and moved to the hospital window again, leaning his head against the glass, staring unseeingly into the dark of night. If only he'd made the right guess in the first place and decided to patrol downtown. If only he hadn't finally figured out where the Joker would strike. If only he hadn't sent Batwoman and Nightwing there. If only... if only..._

- - -

  
TBC... 


	4. Second Act

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Second Act

- - -

_The first light of dawn had turned a corner of the sky a faint pink. A new day was beginning. Christmas, Batman realized in some remote part of his mind as he heard cheerful voices drift faintly from outside. Christmas, but not in this room. _

The image before his eyes was not the skyline of the city beginning to emerge in dusky half-light. He saw empty counters in the dimness of nighttime lighting, the shelves and racks of a department store surrounded him, and he heard the echoes of gunshots... 

- - -

Batman started towards the sound, every sense on alert, then stopped and ducked for cover as he heard something else: running feet, not far away, coming from deeper inside the store. He was familiar enough with this building to remember a side entrance, to his right as he faced the back. Quickly he started in that direction, moving as fast he could while bent down to stay out of sight. He might be able to catch them, head them off before they could get out. The police were arriving; he could hear them too, starting to move in through the front door behind him. 

Five thieves, he saw as he got closer. Four he dismissed at a glance, ordinary punks, loaded down with loot. He could take care of them before they had time to get their guns aimed. No sign of the window display figures; there must have been more men, probably gone now. But the fifth - tall, thin, green hair vivid even in the dim lighting, the metallic gleam of a pistol in his hand - the Joker was a different story. 

Almost without thought Batman's hands went to his belt and came out with several small disks, like tiny stylized bats, the wings edged with sharp points. He had taken a few tips from Nightwing during their partnership, and adapted his batarangs into smaller throwing stars. A quick flip of the wrist, and one zipped through the air, to bite into the forearm of the closest thief. 

The echoes of his howl of pain were still ringing as another star hit the Joker in the elbow. He made no sound, but snarled wordlessly and swung around, eyes darting. "Batman!" he hissed. 

"Where?" 

"There!" He fired. 

Batman dived for the floor, rolled, and came up with another star in his hand. He threw it, and heard a curse - and the clatter of a gun hitting the floor. It was all he was waiting for. In a swift movement he was up, leaping over the counter, twisting in midair to land on his feet, dropping into a crouch and then jumped again to crash into them head-first, bringing three men down with him into a struggling heap. 

The one he had landed directly on stopped moving after his fingers found a pressure point. A hard kick in the belly sent another crashing through the glass of a cosmetics counter. Two down. Three, as Batman rose into a half-turn and a kick that caught him in the chest. The last of the Joker's men was dropping an armful of fur coats and fumbling frantically in his jacket. Just as his hand emerged equipped with a gun, Batman scooped up one of the coats, whirled it over the thief's head, then hit him - once, twice, and he was out of the fight too. 

The whole thing had taken maybe ten seconds. Enough time for the police to find them; there was a shout of "Freeze!" from behind him. The Joker was backing off, not trying for the pistol lying on the floor a few feet away. Instead, he reached in his pocket. Even as Batman shouted a warning and started for him, he threw something. 

Several pellets hit the floor, a thin dark cloud rising from them. Batman recognized it at once. He pulled his cape over his nose and mouth, holding his breath. He could keep going... but the cops were still coming, putting themselves in danger; he turned, pushed one back, grabbed another's arm and hauled him away. 

"Look out!" he said, forced to take a breath of poisonous air. "The Joker's laughing gas!" 

They needed no further warning to stumble back, even as the gas began to affect them. In a large space like this, a brief exposure would cause coughing, choking, and loss of coordination. In higher concentrations or over more time, it would cause uncontrolled laughter, paralysis of the muscles, even death. They had to stay back; no way to catch the Joker now, and the two officers with him couldn't even aim their guns. 

And he knew it... that mocking voice shouted, "So long, Batman! I hope you appreciate the surprise I left you!" 

They retreated farther, breathing in the clean air in gasps, until the coughing subsided. Batman looked back at the four men he had taken down. They had gotten a much larger dose. He pulled his cape loose from his shoulders and went closer, waving it above them to break up the last traces of gas. He bent over each one to check. They were all still breathing, but in bad shape. 

"These men need medical care," he said as more police joined him. 

"We've called for ambulances," an officer told him. "They'll be here as soon as possible. Everyone else here all right?" 

"Yeah." The other two policemen looked fine. Everything seemed under control as he looked around the store - but the cop who had spoken was still staring at him, an expression of - concern? - on his face. And it hit him. "Batwoman and Nightwing," he said. "They're here somewhere." He looked in the direction the Joker and his men had run from. The back of the store, the same place those gunshots had come from. 

"Batman, maybe you shouldn't go back there..." 

Not even looking at him, Batman started walking, and then broke into a trot. There were more police here, a few spread through the clothing racks, but most gathered around the entrance to a dressing room. He slowed when he reached them, as they watched him silently, their faces grim. Someone had turned on the lights inside. The cops parted before him, conversations dying, men looking up as he stepped inside and then turning back to the two bodies lying on the floor. 

He didn't remember everything after that, just disjointed images and scenes, surreally bright and clear, all of it seeming as distant as if he were watching a movie. Batwoman - Kathy - sprawled on her back on the floor of the dressing room corridor, staring up blindly, her head surrounded by a pool of red. As he stepped closer and bent over her, she seemed to look at him with accusation in her eyes, until he realized that there was nothing there. The life that had deepened those eyes and given them meaning was gone. He watched her, frozen in place, refusing to understand, not feeling much of anything except a cold numbness. 

But there was something else, he remembered dimly, as the sound of labored, gasping breathing slowly penetrated the haze around him. He got back up. There were more police around Nightwing, one of them talking to him in a low voice. Batman took a few steps and knelt next to him, seeing the blood on his face, chest, and shoulder. It had darkened the black and midnight blue of his costume, but was bright where it had flowed onto the floor, outlining the edges of the tiles in red. 

Nightwing's face was contorted in pain, but he opened his eyes. They moved in something that looked like panic, from one face to another, until they finally settled on Batman. "Sorry..." he gasped thinly. "Sorry..." His eyes lost focus and closed again as he made a small painful sound. 

"How is he?" Batman asked. All he got was a blank look. They wouldn't want to say what was obviously the truth, not when Nightwing still might be aware enough to hear them. He stood up again and looked around. "The Joker got away," he said, half to himself. "You'll set up roadblocks, but they won't get him. He's too smart for that." A sharp pain seemed to be settling into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He tried to concentrate, feeling lightheaded, his eyes blurring. "Have to question his men - maybe they'll give him up..." 

They were all looking at him. He knew what they were thinking. No grief, no tears, no feelings. Cold and hard... 

- - -

_'I'll make my heart as cold and hard as a stone...' _

The words drifted through his mind as he gazed out the hospital window at the brightening dawn, spoken in the voice of a little boy who had sworn he would never be hurt so deeply again. And yet it had happened. 

"How are you holding up?" 

The question startled him. He had been so wrapped up in thought he had been only dimly aware of someone coming in. Turning away from the window, he saw James Gordon pulling the door shut behind him. 

"Me? I'm fine." 

"Any change?" Gordon glanced at the bed. 

"Not yet." 

"The doctors say he has a good chance." 

"A chance. Yeah." 

"They told me the Kevlar suit stopped one of the bullets. The other one penetrated, but only a couple of inches. The third bullet, in his shoulder, isn't too serious. But the impact-" 

"I know. Blunt force trauma. Internal injuries. The suits aren't thick enough to provide complete protection. Been there." 

"It saved his life." 

"But not hers," he said with a dull bitterness. "Not much a suit can do about a bullet in the head." 

"Look..." Gordon's voice was hesitant. Batman sensed him changing his mind about whatever he was going to say. After another moment, he continued. "The Joker got away, just like you thought." 

"Any luck with his men?" 

"Not yet. They're all hospitalized, and the doctors won't let us question them for more than a few minutes. By the time we get anything out of them, the Joker will have found a new hiding place." 

"I suppose so. But I'll get him. Sooner or later." His fingers clenched spasmodically into fists. 

"Batman, maybe this is too personal for you. Let us handle it." 

"He did this because of _me_... to get to _me_... No, it's my problem, and I'll handle it." He closed his eyes, almost able to see it... Driving a fist into that dead-white face, blotting him out with no more mercy than he had shown Kathy... With an effort, he uncurled his hands and forced himself back to calmness. 

"Just don't do anything - foolish." 

He turned away again, answering with an honesty that vaguely surprised him. "The only foolish thing I did was sending them after him alone. Letting them do this - be Batwoman and Nightwing - in the first place. Even helping them. Now they've paid for my mistake." 

"They're both adults. You couldn't have stopped them." 

"I should have tried harder." 

Another awkward hesitation as he kept his back turned, until Gordon spoke again. "Only a few doctors and nurses saw Nightwing's unmasked face in the emergency room. Now with the bruises and bandages..." 

"Unlikely that anyone would know who he is, or recognize him if they saw him again." 

"Yes. We have this room under guard, and we're keeping everyone out except essential medical personnel." 

"Thanks." Batman gave him another glance, wondering just how much he knew, or suspected. If he had recognized Dick himself, he would never say. 

"If - when he's well enough to be moved, I'll make sure you can get him out of here quietly. No reporters." 

"Good." 

"But Batwoman..." He trailed off. 

"You've identified her." 

A heavy sigh. "Yes. There's no way to keep it secret, but we won't release her real name to the press until after her next-of-kin is notified and decides what to do about... What arrangements to make." 

"She has a brother. Had a brother." 

"Yes, he's the one we're trying to reach." Gordon waited for a few more moments, and then stepped back in the direction of the door. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. Let me know if I can do anything." 

"Thanks." Batman glanced up. Gordon was in the doorway, a hand on the knob, looking back as if he wanted to say more. His face seemed more deeply lined than usual, his eyes saddened. Some slender thread of concern and sympathy for his friend reached Batman through the haze of numbness. 

"She was your friend, too. I'm sorry, Jim." 

"This wasn't your fault." Gordon waited again, before opening the door with another sigh. A moment later he was gone, his footsteps fading into silence. 

- - -

Time passed. Batman wasn't sure if it was crawling or speeding. It just went by, leaving him isolated in the small bubble of that room, alone with the unconscious body of his friend and partner, except for the occasional nurse or doctor who came in to do whatever they needed to do. And with the image of Kathy, never as he had last seen her, empty eyes gazing at nothing, but Kathy as he remembered her, so quick to smile, to laugh, her smiles now gone forever. 

They had asked if he wanted to see her, to say goodbye, and given him a noncommittal but somehow disapproving look when he had said no. How could he explain that he had no desire to see the shell of what had been his Kathy? To take away another terrible memory of her dead face, another image that would forever haunt him? No, better just to sit here. Had to think about the living. 

Dick... Still breathing, a tube under his nose feeding him oxygen, his face bruised and bandaged. They had hit him in the face first. Then shot him, at close range. Surprising that he had survived. Surprising that a little color had returned to his skin over the last hours, that he had mumbled something unintelligible a few times. 

And surprising that now his face twitched, his head rolled slightly. Dick's eyes squeezed shut, and then opened. They stared up blankly at first, then widened. Batman pulled his chair closer and leaned in. After a few more seconds, Dick focused on him. 

"What..." His voice was a hoarse croak. He licked his lips and tried again. "What happened...?" 

"You're in the hospital. You're going to be all right." Experimentally, Batman tried to smile. It didn't work. 

"It was the Joker. He was waiting... his men..." 

"Don't try to talk about it now." 

"Batwoman... where is she?" 

"She's..." His throat closed on the reassuring lie he had intended to tell. 

"She was hurt - real bad, I think." Dick was staring at him, desperation visible behind tubes and bandages. His hand reached out, fingers grasping weakly at Batman's wrist. "Is she okay? Tell me!" 

"She's gone." He was distantly surprised to hear a quiver in his own voice. 

"Gone?" For a moment Dick seemed not to understand, his eyes searching Batman's. Then he closed them again, his face contracting in misery. "Oh God... Kathy... I'm so sorry..." 

"Not your fault." The words sounded empty and hollow, even to himself. 

"I should have done something... stopped it..." 

"I'm sure you did what you could." 

They fell back into silence. Batman watched Dick turn his face to the wall and curl up, shoulders trembling, and wondered if he should reach out, touch him, show him that it really wasn't his fault. Whether he could try to share the pain he saw, and maybe his own. But in the end he couldn't do it, not when he felt the numbness threatening to recede and dissolve, giving him a frightening glimpse of what lay underneath it. 

After a few minutes he returned to the window and looked out, alone with the thought that echoed through his mind. _"Never again... This must never happen again."_

- - -

  
TBC... 


	5. Intermission

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Intermission

- - -

Evening. The last light of day gleamed in through the white blinds in the window in the white wall in this terribly white hospital room. He had fallen asleep again, luckily without the dark images that had begun to disturb his sleep in the last days, as he was slowly taken off painkillers. But this evening was worth waking up for; it was the evening of the day he was getting out of here. 

Dick collected his strength, pushed the covers back, sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Carefully he stood up, feeling a now-familiar twinge in his chest, and made his way across the room to the small but private bathroom. One of the perks of being a VIP. Very Important Patient. Important enough to rate getting this room to himself. Of course it helped that Batman had arranged somehow to pay for his expenses. Just one more thing he owed to Bruce. 

Yes, he should be grateful. He _was_ grateful. Bruce - Batman - had done everything he could to help. He had visited every day. He had made sure Dick had the best care, and the best treatment. He had even insisted that Dick stay in his house until he was fully recovered. And yet - as he splashed cold water over his face and peered at himself in the mirror, Dick was glad Batman wasn't there now. 

Not that he hadn't tried to be comforting, in his way. But somehow his somber and often silent presence had the opposite effect, with its reminder of the tragedy they shared. There was no way Dick could joke or tease him out of this dark mood, nor did he want to try. 

No, he needed someone to lighten his own mood. Something to blot out the nightmare memory of fear and pain that intruded into his dreams, something to stop him from seeing Kathy every time he closed his eyes; the look of surprise on her face when the bullet hit... 

Tears again. Dick wiped them away and cooled his eyes again with a splash of water. Hated feeling so weak. So helpless. It made things worse. Had to pull himself together. Batman had. At least on the surface. 

And yet, there was something a little weird about his rigid self-control. He had questioned Dick briefly about what had happened. When it became obvious what little he remembered wouldn't help find the Joker, Batman had dropped it. And hadn't mentioned it again, or said anything about Kathy beyond what he'd say about any murder victim. 

He had gone to the funeral as Bruce and then refused to talk about it. No, he came in every day, made conversation as if nothing was wrong, stared out the damn window for a while, and then left. The only thing he had shown any real emotion about was his search for the Joker, just a few momentary displays of his anger and frustration at not having made any progress in the week since the shooting. 

Not fair, Dick told himself. Everyone handled grief in their own way. Bruce just kept it inside. He must feel terrible, and it must make things even worse when he had no one to talk to about it. A new wave of shame added to the guilt Dick always seemed to carry now. He hadn't protected Kathy. Now it was up to him to reach Bruce somehow, make it easier for him. He'd been selfish, thinking only about his own feelings, while Bruce was the one who needed comfort. 

And there was someone else he should be thinking about, too. After finishing in the bathroom, Dick returned to the bed and sat. Batman had finally decided he was capable of making a phone call without revealing how badly injured he was, and had brought him his cellphone. Slowly, he punched in the number. Part of him almost hoped she wouldn't answer, so he wouldn't have to lie to her, but a stronger part wanted to hear her voice, wanted to see her and know she was thinking of him... 

_"Hello?"_

"Barbara?" 

_"Dick! Dick, are you okay?"_

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine." 

_"I've been so worried! Where are you? What's going on?"_

"Didn't Bruce give you my message?" 

_"Yeah, but all he said was you had to leave town to take care of a family problem. He didn't say where, and your cellphone didn't answer..."_

"Yeah, I - forgot and let the battery run out. Sorry." 

_"What happened?"_

"It's a family thing, like Bruce told you." 

_"Family? Who?"_

Barbara knew his parents were dead, and he had no brothers or sisters. Dick closed his eyes and recited the lie he and Batman had decided on. "My uncle. He's been living in Europe, and we'd lost touch. Now he's here because of a medical problem. I'm trying to help out." 

_"Where are you?"_

It had to be far enough away that she wouldn't decide to come after him. "California." 

_"L.A.? San Francisco? I know people there."_

He groped for the most obscure California city he had ever heard of. "No. Silver Hills." 

_"Oh."_ Her voice sounded disappointed. _"Well - when will you be back?"_

At least this time he could tell the truth, at least partially. "Probably another two or three weeks." By then he should be almost back to normal, and he could make up a story, invent an accident to explain the fading scars on his face and shoulder. 

_"What about your job? Your apartment?" _

And this answer could be honest, too. "Bruce is taking care of it. Don't worry." 

_"Well... good."_ There was a hesitation in her voice. _"You know about Kathy, don't you?"_

His heart sank at the name. "Yeah. I know." 

_"I can't believe she's gone. We had dinner with her the same night."_

"Yeah." 

_"And she was Batwoman. I can't believe it. She hid something like that from her friends."_ There was another slight pause, as Dick struggled with the lump that had risen in his throat. _"Do you think Bruce knew?"_

Taken by surprise, he stammered, "I - I guess maybe." 

_"Have you talked to him?"_

"Yeah, a couple of times." 

_"When he spoke to me, he sounded like nothing happened. It was kind of weird."_

"He just doesn't like to show it," Dick said. "He cared for her. A lot." 

_"I suppose." _ Her voice faltered. _"Dad's been really upset. He talks about the Joker all the time. It's been a pretty bad time for everyone."_

"Yeah, must have been." 

_"I wish you were here."_

"Me too, Babs. I miss you." 

_"Will you call me? And keep your phone working this time?"_

"Yeah, I will. I guess I'd better go now." 

_"I hope your uncle feels better soon."_

Another little trickle of guilt through his heart. "He'll be okay. I'll talk to you soon." 

He put the phone down and lay back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Secrets, lies, and guilt. Was this what his life had turned into? 

- - -

"How are you doing in there?" 

Batman's voice from the other side of the bathroom door was just shaded with impatience. He wanted to get going, get out of there. So did Dick. But still he stood staring at the reflection of himself in the small mirror. 

This was the first time he had worn the Nightwing costume since the shooting. Only a week, but it felt a lot longer. He looked down, and touched his chest where the bullets had hit, hard enough to cause internal bleeding. One had gotten through the Kevlar to crack a rib and damage a lung. Then his shoulder, where a third bullet had struck, piercing skin and muscle. In the mirror, bruises and a healing cut showed on his face. He'd have scars. Both outside and in. 

But he'd live. And fight again. Dick lifted his mask and slid it into place. And Nightwing opened the door. 

"I'm ready." 

"Good," Batman said. "The police have cleared the corridors between here and the side entrance. The Batmobile's waiting. Maybe we'll be lucky and everyone outside will be too busy celebrating New Year's - or too drunk - to notice us." 

"New Year's Eve. Right, that's tonight." 

"Yes. Let's go." 

They saw him off; a small group of doctors and nurses, the few who had been permitted inside his hospital room during the past week. Nightwing stopped, turning away from Batman's impatient frown, and took the time to shake hands, exchange smiles, say thanks and receive good wishes. 

Then they were outside, in the cold breeze, under a sky bright with stars. A scattering of snowflakes drifted down, chilling his face. The world seemed so big suddenly, so chill and hard and full of sharp edges, after a week spent without setting foot outside his room. Nightwing shivered, almost tempted to retreat back into the light, warmth, and safety of the hospital. 

"You okay?" 

A hand was grasping his arm, guiding him to the Batmobile. "Sure, I'm fine," he murmured automatically as Batman opened the door, waited for him to slide inside, and closed him in. 

"It'll be nice to see Alfred again," he said, mostly to make conversation, as the engine rumbled to life. 

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you too." 

He knew he should say more; something to soften the harsh lines of Batman's profile, something to show he was grateful, anything. But he simply didn't have the strength. 

- - -

The Batcave seemed different somehow, as if he had been gone for years instead of only a week. So did the house above it, Dick decided, after he had changed into jeans and a shirt and climbed the long narrow stairway that ended behind the grandfather clock in Bruce's study, that hand at his elbow to support him again when he faltered. Bruce was certainly different, although the only outward sign was the unfamiliar shadows under his eyes. Even Alfred was different, but in a good way, offering a warmly welcoming smile instead of his usual formal manner. 

"So good to see you, Mr. Grayson. I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one." 

"Thanks. I'm sure it will." 

"Would you care for something to eat?" 

Dick shrugged. "I'm not all that hungry. And I don't want to be any trouble." 

"It's no trouble at all. Perhaps just a snack? Good food will help with your recovery. A sandwich, some hot chocolate...?" 

Good old Alfred. Too bad food couldn't cure everything. Dick smiled, unable to say no to that eager expression. "Hot chocolate sounds good. Thanks." 

"I'll take Dick to his room," Bruce said. "Why don't you bring it up for him?" 

"Very good, sir. I'll be up shortly." 

This time Dick was glad of Bruce's help as they began to slowly climb another long set of stairs. Only a week ago he could have run up them. He stopped, trying to catch his breath, hating his own weakness. 

"Want me to carry you?" 

"No!" Dick exclaimed. "I mean, I'm fine." The very idea gave him the strength to get up to the second floor. 

"This'll be your room." Bruce led him to a door, and held it open for him. 

Dick stepped inside and looked around. It probably wasn't a big room by Bruce's standards, but it seemed immense to him, after his own bedroom which was barely large enough for a bed, a dresser, and a closet. This one was equipped with all those, and also night tables, a set of bookcases filled with books, a television, a stereo, and a couple of armchairs. 

"It's great," he said. "Thanks." 

"Alfred and I picked up your clothes at your apartment. We bought whatever else we thought you might need. If we missed anything, just let Alfred know." 

"Thanks." 

"The bathroom's right across the hall." 

"Okay." 

Bruce crossed the room to a bookcase, took out a book, fidgeted with it for a few seconds, and then put it back. For the first time, it occurred to Dick that the other man was almost as uncomfortable as he was. 

"This was my room when I was a kid," Bruce said quietly, his back still turned. 

"It was?" Dick prompted when he fell silent again. 

"Yeah. After my parents died, I lived with my uncle for a while. Later, I moved back here. Didn't want to use my parents' room, so I turned it into another study. There's a computer in there. You can use it if you want." 

"Thanks." Dick waited, and then asked, "What was it like, living with your uncle?" 

"It was... He was a very busy man. I didn't see much of him." 

"Sounds kind of lonely." 

"Maybe. I had a home. Can't complain." 

Dick watched him, wondering if he was thinking about what had happened to Dick himself, about the years he had spent in orphanages and foster homes, or only remembering his own past. He found himself trying to picture that little boy, his parents killed in front of him, suddenly thrown from a loving family into the care of an uncle who probably had no idea what to do with the child who had been dumped on him. Not hard to imagine at all. What was it Bruce had once said? _I look at you, and I can almost see myself..._ For the first time, Dick knew exactly what he meant. 

"I guess we were both lonely," he said tentatively. 

Bruce turned, his expression softened, but whatever answer he might have had was left unsaid as Alfred appeared in the doorway, a tray balanced on his hand. He stopped a step or two inside the room and looked from Bruce to Dick. "Getting settled in all right?" he asked after a moment. 

"Yeah, everything's great." 

"Well, it's late," Bruce said. "I'd better let you get some rest." He started for the door. 

"Bruce..." 

"Yes?" He turned back in the doorway, his face shadowed by the light from the hall. 

"I really appreciate all this. What you're doing for me." 

Some unidentifiable emotion crossed Bruce's face. "It's nothing," he said. "The least I could do." 

"Well, thanks." 

"Good night." 

"Here we go," Alfred said with slightly forced cheerfulness, setting the tray on a night table. "Just a bit of food, and that hot chocolate. Drink this and you'll sleep like a baby." 

"Looks great. Thanks." Feeling absolutely no appetite, Dick picked up the cup and took a sip. 

"It really is good to have you here, sir. With you out of the hospital, perhaps Master Bruce can begin to recover." 

Dick looked up. "He seems to be doing okay." 

"Appearances can be deceiving. Especially where he is concerned." Alfred sighed, a tiredness that was more than the late hour coming over his face. "He's taken Miss Kathy's death and your injury very hard indeed." 

"Yeah. I guess it's been hard for everyone." Dick looked down at his hands, trying to relax the tension that had tightened his stomach. 

"Sorry, sir. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up." 

"No, it's okay. Gotta face it. That's the only way to get over it." 

"A very healthy attitude. I hope Master Bruce..." Alfred trailed off. Then with another over-bright smile, he took a step to the door. "I'll leave you to get some sleep. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything. My room is on the level above, second door on the right, and you can reach me on the house phone." 

"Thanks," Dick said, for what felt like the millionth time. After the door closed he picked up the cup of hot chocolate again and drained it. The sandwich was more than he could handle at the moment, though. 

The thought of sleep held no appeal, either. Restlessly, Dick got up and explored the room, finding his t-shirts and underwear neatly folded in the dresser drawers, his shirts and pants presenting a lonely picture in the closet, where they took up only a fraction of the space. Undoubtedly there would be a full set of supplies in the bathroom, too. 

A big, beautiful room, everything he needed, a butler to wait on him, two people trying to make him comfortable. There were good reasons for him to be here. He couldn't be seen yet, not when someone might put Dick Grayson's injuries together with Nightwing's and come up with the truth. He still needed care, and rest. And yet he would have infinitely preferred his own cramped, shabby apartment, where he could take care of himself, where he could relax and recover away from concerned eyes, away from anyone who reminded him of what had happened. 

Dick sat heavily on the bed, and then lay down, staring at the ceiling. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	6. Third Act

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Third Act

- - -

_It was dark, only a few scattered lights here and there. They heard sounds, footsteps and voices seeming to echo in that vast, gray space. Shadowy objects surrounded them; towering shelves, unattended counters. _

"Come on. Stay out of sight." 

They crept forward, through the corridors formed by racks of empty clothing that seemed almost to be menacingly alive. 

"They're in there." It was only a whisper, breathed into his ear. 

He felt a chill of fear as he saw it, as they started for it. An opening into the dark, a narrow corridor lined with small doors. Dressing rooms. It was lit with the wavering, moving glow of flashlights, like a swarm of giant fireflies. Silently they took their places on either side of the doorway. He looked at Batwoman, barely able to see her face in the dark. She nodded. 

Then they were in, the forms of three men appearing before them, the sound of startled curses as he tackled one, bringing him down. Batwoman was taking care of another with a kick and a flashing blow to the back of the neck. The third came at him, took a couple of inept swings, and smacked into the wall with a simple throw. He and Batwoman exchanged a glance. She smiled. Easy. 

Sudden light, catching them by surprise. A man dashed out of one of the dressing rooms, a face from a nightmare of white skin, red lips, and green hair. A beam from the flashlight he held caught Nightwing's eyes, blinding him with a burst of brightness. He stepped backwards, tripping over a chair. There was a gleam of metal as the flashlight came at his face, smashing into his head. Pain, his vision blurring as he saw Batwoman jump past and struggle with the Joker. She was trying to protect him, but there was another man, grabbing her from behind, and one of the thieves they had just taken out was up again, and pulling his gun. 

He got up somehow, grabbed the man with the pistol, twisted it out of his hand, but the Joker had a gun too. Batwoman was struggling with him, back-kicking the man behind her, but the Joker was too fast and too strong; there was a flash as bright as the sun, a roar of noise, Kathy's body jerking and toppling to the floor, her face with a look of frozen surprise... Another flash as he blinked at her in horror, something hitting him in the chest. He fell, and stared up at the tall, green-haired monster standing over him as he aimed and fired again, laughing all the time... 

"No..." It was only a gasp, as he floundered out of the dream and found himself in bed, clutching at the blankets, trembling in nightmare terror. 

Dick blinked into the dimness of the room, and then reached for the lamp on the closest night table. The light hurt his eyes for a moment, but it helped to dispel the dream. He waited, hoping he hadn't made enough noise to wake Bruce or Alfred. Apparently not. Only silence came from outside the door. 

Of course, Bruce probably wasn't home. Dick checked his clock. Two-thirty in the morning. Bruce was probably still out as Batman, or as Matches Malone, trying to pick up the Joker's trail. Seemed like he was rarely home. Not that they didn't spend time together, but... even when he was there, it was obvious that a large part of his mind was out on the streets of Gotham, tracking down his archenemy. 

And doing it alone... Dick pushed back the covers and got up. It had been more than two weeks he had been living here. It had been enough time for him to get most of his strength back. Maybe it was time to start helping out, too. 

In the Batcave fifteen minutes later, he stopped and looked around, realizing he had no idea how to give that help. The computer... that was the obvious first step. Check Batman's case notes. See if he could figure anything out, if there was anything he could do. Maybe even go undercover again in his old identity as Robbie, Anthony Zucco's sometime hired hand. Some of his old underworld acquaintances might remember him. 

It took less than a minute for him to log on and locate the file. Naturally, it was the most recently modified. From the looks of things, this was the only thing Batman had been working on. Dick began to read. Standard notes. Descriptions of the Joker's first two robberies and Batman's confrontation with him. A chillingly impersonal account of the third robbery, including Batwoman's death and Nightwing's injury. A summary of what little they had learned from the Joker's men. Patrols. Questioning of various crooks and stool pigeons. Visits to underworld hangouts as Matches... Nothing. Nothing solid, nothing he could turn into a clue. 

Disappointed, Dick started over again. If only he could make some contribution that would help put the Joker away, maybe that would help. Maybe then he could stop dreaming. Maybe the tension he could always sense in Bruce would ease. Maybe things could go back to something at least close to the way they had been... 

"What are you doing?" 

Dick jumped at the sound of the voice, the tone of barely leashed anger as startling as its unexpectedness. Turning, he saw a man stepping off the bottom of the stairway leading up, a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and unattractive features, dressed in a threadbare jacket and stained, sagging jeans. 

"Bruce!" he exclaimed. "Man, don't sneak up on me like that." 

"I asked you what you're doing." 

"Going over your file on the Joker." 

"Why?" 

"Thought maybe I could help." 

Bruce reached around him and closed the program on the computer. "I don't want you going through my files." His voice was quieter, but still angry. 

"Why? I always did before. It was your idea." 

Bruce turned away from him. He reached up to pull off the wig, revealing his own black hair, and moved to the desk and mirror he used for disguises. Sitting, he began to remove his makeup. "It's different now," he answered after a few moments. "You're in no condition to get involved in this case." 

"Being one of the victims, I think I'm already involved. I want to get him as much as you do. And my condition is fine. I've started working out again. Got most of my strength back. We could start our training again any time you're ready." 

"No." 

"What do you mean, 'no'?" 

Bruce glanced at him, his eyes sliding away again almost nervously. "I don't want to take any chances. You're going to stay here and rest for another week until you're fully recovered. Then you're going home, and back to your job at Wayne Enterprises." 

"Bruce, I want to help on this case. Please, this means a lot to me." 

"You're too emotionally involved." 

"I can handle it. It's not going to hurt me to at least see your notes and talk about it." 

"Well..." He was hesitating. "You've seen the notes already." 

"You've been out as Matches tonight. Did you find out anything?" 

"No." Bruce was on his feet again, his face back to normal, shedding Matches' old, cheap clothes for a shirt and slacks. "I must have talked to a dozen assorted hoods and punks. Nobody knows anything, except that the rest of the Joker's gang seems to have deserted him." His mouth turned in a humorless smile. "Seems they think Batman has it in for him, more than usual. They're afraid." 

_With good reason,_ Dick thought privately. "If you could find any of them, maybe they'd know where you can find the Joker." 

"I asked around. Nobody's saying much. Both the Joker and I have them scared. One guy mentioned that two of the gang are still in town. Ray and Joey. No last name or address, but I'll track them down." 

"Ray and Joey..." Dick looked up eagerly. "I knew a Ray and Joey from my Robbie days. Brothers." 

"Yes, he said they were brothers." Bruce's eyes had sharpened with interest. "Do you know their last name?" 

"Yeah. Malek. Joey lived way downtown, I think on Carmine Street or somewhere around there." 

"Should be enough for me to find him." 

"Yeah. Damn, wish I could ask Barbara. She's great at finding out stuff." 

"Don't even think about it. She'd get suspicious." 

"I know. Don't worry." 

"Good." Bruce was standing over him again. "You should go to bed. Shouldn't be up in the middle of the night." 

A little reluctantly, Dick got up. "Okay. You coming?" 

"No." Bruce was already taking his seat at the computer. "I'm going to follow up on the lead you gave me." 

"Can I help?" 

"No. Get some sleep."

Disappointed but resigned, Dick turned away. He had a foot on the first step of the staircase when Bruce's voice came again from behind him, softly, sounding distracted and distant, but the words still made him smile. "Thanks, Dick." 

- - -

Maybe it had helped. Dick woke again after a dreamless sleep to find sunlight streaming in his window, the room midday warm instead of morning cool. He checked the clock. Lunchtime. His stomach concurred with a growl. 

He was bent with his head in the refrigerator, trying to decide between leftovers and a sandwich, when Alfred's voice came from behind him. 

"Glad to see you're finally up, Master Richard." 

Dick straightened. "That's the second time today someone's sneaked up on me. I must be slipping." 

"You simply don't expect an attack here, so you're not on your guard." 

"Bruce says to always expect an attack, no matter where you are." 

Alfred held a chair at the small kitchen table for him, smiling slightly. "Sounds like an unpleasant way to live. Just sit down and allow me to get something for you." 

"I don't want to be any trouble..." 

The butler silenced him with a glance. "Nonsense, I'll have your lunch ready in a few minutes." He began to remove an alarming amount of food from the refrigerator. 

Dick did as he was told and sat, watching the preparations. He and Alfred had spent a lot of time together in the last couple of weeks, especially with Bruce gone so much, and their relationship had become closer. That had turned out to be one of the redeeming qualities of his time as an invalid. Dick found himself looking up to the older man, both respecting and liking him. As for how Alfred felt about it... at some point Dick had graduated from 'Mr. Grayson' to 'Master Richard'. 

"Master Bruce told me you were up during the night. Was there a problem? Are you having pain?" 

"No, nothing like that." Dick saw his inquiring glance and shrugged uncomfortably. "Just a dream. Been having them lately." 

"No wonder, after what you've been through." 

"I guess." He picked up a salt shaker and pretended to examine it. 

"Was it about - the incident?" 

Incident. Made it sound so small and insignificant. "Yeah." 

"Would it help to talk about it?" Alfred set a plate in front of him, and took the unusual step of sitting down. "As you said yourself, these things must be faced before you can move on." 

"You sure you weren't a shrink once, too?" 

"I have been many things," Alfred said loftily. "But a 'shrink' is not one of them. However, I have observed Master Bruce for quite a few years, and been in a few - situations - myself. I know how these things are." 

"Situations, huh? Like what?" 

"Some other time, perhaps." Alfred watched as Dick picked up his fork and started in. "Have you spoken with Miss Gordon recently?" he asked after a few moments, changing the subject, to Dick's relief. 

"Yeah, a couple of times since I've been here." Dick sighed. Just something else that was going wrong. "The last couple times I talked to her, she sounded a little funny. Kept asking about my uncle; where he's been, why I never mentioned him before. And she asked for an address. Said she wants to send a card. I had to make something up." 

"At least you won't have to put her off much longer. Soon, you'll be going home." Alfred was staring down at the table, not looking happy at the prospect. 

"What's the matter?" 

"It's probably not my place to discuss Master Bruce's personal affairs..." 

"But you'll do it anyway. What is it?" 

"He's changed since it happened. And not for the better. More driven. He spends most of his waking time as Batman, or in one of his disguises. He's obsessed with finding the Joker." 

"I guess that's his way of dealing with it. And I can't blame him for working hard. If he'd let me I'd be there with him." 

"That first day - Christmas, after you were out of danger and he finally came home - he walked into the living room. Just looked at the tree. Picked up the gift he had gotten for Miss Kathy. And then he threw it against the wall, tore the tree down, smashed the other gifts. You should have seen him. It was quite - frightening." 

"Wow. I can't imagine Bruce losing it like that." 

"Anger is an old friend to Master Bruce, it allows him to deal with other emotions - or rather, not to deal with them. He has a streak of - of violence in him. Undoubtedly it's part of what enables him to do his job so well. I've rarely seen it. And never like this." 

They were quiet, as Dick thought back to nights of watching Batman in action, the fights that they had shared. Batman had never gone too far. But once in a while, Dick had seen something in his face, a glint of satisfaction when he hit someone... If anyone knew him well, it was Alfred. Maybe he was right. 

"After that, he was - silent," the butler went on. "Hardly speaks to me anymore. He makes an effort around you, to be more... human. You seem to bring out the best in him, as Miss Kathy did." 

Slightly embarrassed, but pleased, Dick shrugged. "If you say so, I guess. But he's not exactly saying much to me either. And he doesn't want me to help him find the Joker." 

"I just hope he will go back to his old self soon. Before he does anything he might regret." 

"I'm sure he will. And I'm sure he has everything under control." 

- - -

_Control. Don't lose control. Not until he tells me what I want to know._

Batman closed in on the trembling man facing him, slowly, not raising a fist, not shouting, not even touching him. Just a cold stare, watching the sweat break out on his pale, ratty face. It had taken hours of waiting, here in the dingy apartment he had broken into on Carmine Street, after he had found Joe Malek's last known address. Hours of silent waiting, thinking, remembering. Wondering if this man had seen Kathy die, if he had been there when Dick was shot and left for dead. Feeling the anger build, more intense now that his goal was in sight. Now that he might find out where the Joker was hiding. And finally, Malek had shown up, only minutes ago. 

"Where is he?" 

"What... who?" 

"You know who I mean. You know who I want." 

"I don't know where he is!" 

"You must know something. Places he's used. Where he likes to hang out. Tell me." 

"He'll kill me!" 

"And if you don't tell..." Batman allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. 

Malek gulped, his eyes widening. "I can't!" 

With a motion almost too fast to see, Batman had his throat in his grip. He squeezed, not too hard, watching Malek's mouth open soundlessly. "Yes, you can," he said mildly. He pushed, banging the other man's head against the wall. Surprisingly, the punk showed some fight, yanking at Batman's wrist, kicking out, and managing to twist free. As he turned to run, Batman reached around him, pulled his arm behind his back, and pushed him hard into the wall. Just for emphasis, he got a handful of hair and smacked Malek's head into the wall again while twisting his arm just short of breaking it. 

"Ow! Okay, okay! I'll tell you!" 

"Good. Where is he?" 

"He moves around a lot... Got a new hideout by now..." 

Wordlessly, Batman twisted the arm harder. 

"Stop it! Okay! I know he uses the old Marquis theater, out in the 'burbs. It's been shut down for a couple of years. Heard he goes there at night." 

"If you're lying, I promise I'll find you. And when I do..." 

"I'm not lying! That's where he is!" 

Batman relaxed his grip just a little. But there was one more question he had to ask. "Were you with him when he robbed Bach's?" 

Now a deeper panic seemed to come into Malek's voice as it almost squeaked in response. "Bach's?" 

"Yes. You remember. Big department store downtown. Where Batwoman was murdered, and Nightwing almost died." 

"I didn't do it!" 

"Of course not. Were you there?" 

"It was the Joker! I couldn't stop him! He shot them, both of them!" 

Batman's voice dropped into a silky murmur. "And I'm sure you tried really hard to stop him." 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I got nothing to do with the Joker anymore! Please, let me go!" 

How easy it would be to make sure this whining piece of shit never hurt anyone again... Just a twist of the neck, a blow to the right spot, only a moment of time... It would feel so good to crush him, and watch the life drain from his worthless body. He moved his fingers to the other man's neck and heard a whimper of fear... 

_What am I thinking?_ Feeling slightly sickened, Batman let go and stepped back. In another moment he was out, away from that dirty little place, swiftly sliding down a line to where he had left the Batmobile. Deliberately, he turned his mind away from what he had been so tempted to do moments ago. All that mattered was that he was closer now. Almost there. Just a few preparations, and he would be ready to face the Joker. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	7. Fourth Act

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Fourth Act

- - -

It started in the late afternoon, he would remember later. That was when everything started to go straight to hell. 

Dick was in the living room, reading, trying to keep his eyes open. His late night visit to the Batcave had taken its toll, despite the hours he had slept afterwards. As he was wondering whether to just give up, drop the book on the floor and close his eyes, he heard it. A demanding voice. A woman. And one he knew all too well. 

She must be out in the foyer... no way she wouldn't see him if he tried for the stairs. Too bad he wasn't in the study, where the clock and the stairway down to the cave were, but no way to get in there without being seen, either. He stood up, looking around. Might be able to get through a window... but he was probably overreacting; she must have come to see Bruce, and Alfred would get rid of her... 

And then it was too late for escape, as the voice came rapidly nearer, with Alfred's lower tones protesting. She appeared in the doorway, catching sight of him as she walked by, and freezing, staring. Alfred was right behind her. He gave Dick an apologetic look before disappearing. 

"Dick!" 

"Barbara... What - what are you doing here?" 

"I came here looking for Bruce, to find out where you really are. And now I know." 

"Look, I can explain." 

She advanced a few steps into the room, blue eyes glaring, cheeks almost matching her red hair, and crossed her arms. "Well?" 

"I - I just got back in town. My uncle got better, so I decided to come back. Kind of a last minute thing." 

"And why did you come here, instead of your apartment?" 

"Well, I had to see Bruce about something." 

"Really? When Alfred says he's not here?" 

"I was waiting for him." He waved at the couch. "Found a book and was waiting." 

"Must be important, whatever you had to discuss with him." 

"Yeah, it is." 

"Anything you want to tell me about?" 

"It's just work. You wouldn't be interested." 

"Try me." Her eyes narrowed. 

This was getting him nowhere, and he didn't like being on the defensive like this. "What's with the interrogation, anyway?" he demanded. "If you're mad I didn't call-" 

"Right, the phone calls," she interrupted. "Where were you when you made them? Right here?" 

"I - what do you mean?" he stammered, caught off-guard. 

"It's not going to work this time, Dick," she said, taking a step closer. "I didn't remember you ever mentioning an uncle, so I did some checking. Your father was an only child. Your mother had a sister. Not an uncle in sight." 

"He could be my aunt's husband. Did you think of that?" 

"Yes, I did. She was married, but her husband died five years ago. I even checked your grandparents, in case you had a great-uncle floating around. Nope. No living uncles of any kind." 

Caught - what could he do? With no other option, Dick tried to distract her with anger. "Why the hell were you checking up on me anyway?" 

But she didn't take the bait. "Then I looked for any record of a plane flight to California with you on it. Nothing." 

"You're not supposed to be able to see those records." 

She gave him a tight smirk. "I have my sources. And don't bother saying you rented a car. I checked that too." 

"I drove my own car." 

"Then why was it parked in front of your building the day after Bruce said you had left? It was gone a couple of days later. And now - it's in Bruce's garage. That was the first thing I checked when I got here." 

"Uh..." He stopped, unable to think of anything to say. 

"And the address you gave me for your uncle doesn't exist. You lied about the whole thing." 

"Look..." He spread his hands. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not true." 

"I don't know what to think!" Her icy manner cracked for the first time as her lips trembled. "You vanish without a word... I was so worried, I went looking for you, and then Bruce told me that story... I knew something was wrong. After you called, I - I had to find out!" Her face and voice softened. "What's going on, Dick?" 

"Nothing." He sighed, searching for some explanation she might believe. "I just - needed some time. Had to get away." 

"From what? Me?" 

"No, of course not!" He reached for her, but she avoided his touch. "Just - stuff at work, and then Kathy..." A sharp stab of guilt went through him at the way he was using Kathy's death as an excuse. 

"And I guess Bruce needed you to _comfort_ him." 

"Well, I guess you could say..." He took another look at her face. "Hey, it's nothing like that! Bruce is my friend, but that's all!" 

"Oh, I know, but..." Barbara sighed helplessly, and then looked more closely at him. There was a note of concern in her voice when she asked, "What happened to your face?" 

"It's nothing." His hand went to the still visible marks on his cheek. "Just an accident. I fell on the stairs. Banged myself up a little, but I'm fine now." 

"Uh huh." That closed look was back. "I want to know what's going on. The truth this time." 

"Nothing. Like I said, I just needed to get away and rest a little, and Bruce let me come here. I'm sorry I lied to you, I really am, but I just didn't feel like talking about it." 

Barbara stared at him for a few moments, her expression becoming colder. "All right. Fine. I'll leave you alone then. Permanently." She started for the doorway. 

"Babs, please..." 

"I'm sorry, Dick, but I just don't believe you. And this isn't the first time I think you've lied to me." She turned to look at him directly again. "You aren't the person I thought you were." 

"So that's it, then?" 

"I guess so. Unless you want to start being honest." 

When she started walking again, he didn't stop her. 

- - -

The next hour seemed to pass in a haze. Alfred's attempts to be comforting. His own thoughts veering wildly between grief, guilt, anger, and regret. And anxiety. Barbara was smart. Even smarter than he had thought. What if she figured it out? She would never tell - but she was angry. What if she told her father? He probably already suspected, and he'd never tell, that wouldn't be a problem - but Barbara didn't understand, she didn't know that Dick's life, and maybe Bruce's, depended on keeping that secret. Someday she might let it slip out. 

For the first time, he fully appreciated what Bruce had gone through with the various women in his life. The toll secrets and deception invariably took. The doubts, the reluctance to trust. The wall that seemed to grow between you and those you love, if they don't know that central fact of your life. 

Did he love Barbara? The truth was he didn't know. Did he trust her? Yes, but not enough to share a secret that could have deadly repercussions. Would it be better for everyone to just let her go? Probably. 

"Are you all right, sir?" 

Dick looked up to see Alfred's concerned face, and realized he had been just sitting on the sofa, staring at the floor, for what had probably been a long time. "Sure, I'm okay," he answered, trying for a smile. 

"Love can be very difficult. I know." 

"Yeah, I'm finding that out." It occurred to Dick to wonder, looking up at him. Alfred, who had never married, as far as he knew, who had never talked about his personal life. What secrets did _he_ have that had made him so familiar with the difficulty of love? 

"Miss Gordon is an admirable young woman. Perhaps you can find a way around this situation. Get back together with her." 

"I don't think so. Not without telling her the truth." 

"Would that be so bad?" 

"I don't know." Dick sighed. "I honestly don't know." He got up. "I think I'll see if Bruce is back yet." 

"Master Bruce has certainly had experience with this sort of thing, but I'm not entirely sure he's a proper example to follow." 

"Yeah." Dick smiled again. "Thanks, Alf." 

"I haven't done anything, really. But you're welcome." 

- - -

Bruce was there when he reached the bottom of the stairway down to the Batcave, in costume except for cowl, cape, and gloves and busy among his supplies and weapons. He glanced up as Dick approached and then turned his attention back to his work. 

"You're back." 

"Not for long." 

Dick fidgeted for a few moments, watching Bruce ignore him, and then said what was on his mind. "Barbara came by the house." 

That got his attention. "Barbara? She didn't see you, did she?" 

"She sure did. Came looking for me. She did a freakin' background check on me. Found out I don't have an uncle, and that I didn't go to California." 

"What did you tell her?" 

"Nothing. All she knows is that I lied to her. But that was enough. She dumped me." 

Bruce looked up sharply again. "That's too bad. But it was inevitable." His face tightened, eyes drifting away. "It never works. Not when the woman isn't... not when she doesn't know." 

_But it could have worked for you and Kathy..._ Dick left the words unsaid. He dropped into a chair nearby and watched. "What are you doing?" 

"Getting a little special equipment together." 

"What's up? Find anything? Did you locate the Malek brothers?" 

"Yes, one of them." 

Dick sat up eagerly. "Well? Did he know anything?" 

"Yes." 

"What? Tell me!" 

Bruce looked and sounded reluctant, but he answered. "The Joker's holed up in the old Marquis theater. And that's where I'm heading." 

"The Marquis..." Dick watched for a few more moments. The Joker. Finally. The man who had killed Kathy, almost killed him, who had caused Bruce so much pain, and had been indirectly responsible for his own break-up with Barbara... The sudden fury he felt, the desire for revenge; it swept into him like a wave, pure and cold, charging him with energy. They could find the Joker tonight, bring him in, put him back where he belonged, and all of this could be over. It wouldn't bring Kathy back, but it would help. 

"I'm going with you," he said, standing up. 

Bruce didn't even look up. "No, you're not," he said, his voice calm but definite. 

"I have to, Bruce. You can understand that. I'm in good enough shape." 

"Doesn't matter. You're not going." 

"Why? I can help you!" 

"I can't let you get hurt again. Or worse." 

"Bruce... Look, I understand. But this is important to me. I cared about Kathy too. I want to be a part of getting the Joker, even if I have to be - just a lookout or something." He stepped closer. "I have to do this," he repeated. 

"I'm sorry, Dick." Bruce had looked up at last, his face remote but not unsympathetic. "But you're not going." 

"Do you think I'm not ready? Or is it just that it's the Joker? I'm going to have to go back out there sooner or later. Why not now, when it really counts?" 

There was a pause, as Bruce got up and began to pull on his gloves, not meeting Dick's gaze again. "You're not going back out there." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean you're not going to put yourself in danger anymore. You're going to have a normal life from now on. Nightwing has retired." 

"Retired?" Dick said blankly. 

"Yes. I should never have allowed you and Kathy to do this in the first place. I should have known it would end up this way. Now she's dead, and you almost died." He finally met Dick's eyes. "Well, it's never going to happen again." 

Dismayed and shaken, Dick took a deep breath to steady himself and said, "Don't you think that should be _my_ decision? It's my life. My choice to make. I need to be Nightwing." 

"You can live without it." 

"But I don't want to. You're not being reasonable." 

"This is the only reasonable way. Can't you see that?" 

"Then why haven't you given up being Batman? I have just as many reasons to do this as you do. I'm not quitting, no matter what you say. I'll do it on my own if I have to." 

Bruce seemed to sigh just a fraction, his head seemed to droop. Then he straightened and faced Dick again with a resolute expression. "Look, I didn't want to have to say this. But... hasn't it become obvious that you're not cut out for it?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Do I have to spell it out? You and Kathy went up against the Joker alone. You failed. Now she's dead. You weren't good enough to beat him, or to save her." 

"Not good enough...?" Dick stared at him numbly. The thought, the doubt, had haunted him, but he had assured himself that it wasn't true, just his own guilt at being alive when she had died... but to hear it from someone else, especially Bruce... 

"Face it, it's true. You have to give this up before you get killed, or someone else dies because of you. And there's another thing. If you hadn't become Nightwing, Kathy might not have decided to become Batwoman. How much longer before someone else tries it too, and gets hurt or killed, and it will be your fault as much as her death was." 

"My _fault_?!" Another stab of uncertainty and guilt, sharpening the surge of rage that quickly drowned it. "I guess it hasn't occurred to you that _you're_ the one Kathy was copying! If her being Batwoman was anyone's fault, it was _yours_!" 

Bruce's face tightened. "But you made it worse, making it look like anyone can do this." 

"So now I'm just _anyone_? Maybe you just don't want to believe anyone else could do what the all-powerful Batman can do!" 

"It takes ability, skill, and dedication. You're not up to it. I shouldn't have encouraged you, and I can't take the responsibility for the damage you might cause in the future." Bruce's expression was stony. "I loved Kathy, and now, because of you, she's gone." 

He shouldn't say it, he knew that in some corner of his mind, but fury, hurt, guilt, and self-doubt had combined inside him to the point that he no longer cared. Dick reached for the words he sensed would be most painful, and lashed out with them. "You _loved_ her? Oh sure you did, now that she's dead and you don't have to do anything about it. I mean, just listen to yourself. _You_ can't take the responsibility. _You_ can't take any blame. This is all about _you_, isn't it? You didn't care about Kathy, you don't care about me, you're nothing but a heartless bastard who never loved anyone in his life!" 

"Dick..." Bruce's voice was soft, but his eyes had gone cold and hard as ice. 

"I bet you didn't give a shit about your parents, either; they're just a good excuse to go around beating people up-" 

He saw it coming, but too late to avoid it. Bruce's fist hit him in the jaw, leaving his head spinning. Stunned, he staggered, and fell when another blow struck his face. Then he was blinking up, dazed, at the man towering over him, fists clenched, his face an unrecognizable mask of rage. Dick gasped, fear washing away any other emotion, shrinking back as Bruce seemed about to bend down and hit him again. 

But he didn't. Instead Bruce seemed to control himself with an effort, and stepped back. "Get out," he said in a low growl of anger. "You want to kill yourself, fine. Just leave me out of it. Get out of my sight. And out of my house. And out of my city." With a last glare, he swept his cape onto his shoulders, pulled his cowl on, and headed for the Batmobile. In another moment he was gone. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	8. Dénouement

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Dénouement

- - -

_Ungrateful brat..._ Batman's hands gripped the wheel with knuckle-whitening tightness as he sped into the suburbs. _I was trying to protect him. Trying to give him a normal life, a safe life, a life that could include Barbara. Did it for his own good. And he threw it back in my face..._

But all his anger couldn't wipe out the image of Dick on the floor, staring up at him, the shock and fear in his face. _Afraid of** me**..._ Hadn't meant to let it go too far like that. There had seemed to be no choice, when the kid wouldn't listen to reason. Had to say those things, had to take advantage of Dick's insecurities to make him give it up. 

It hadn't gone the way he wanted, and if he knew how to push Dick's buttons, Dick knew where his own were located just as accurately. He had lost control, and no matter what the provocation, there was no excuse for hitting a friend, someone who looked up to him, someone who had been recently injured. He had gotten so angry, so fast, it had been almost frightening - he had felt like killing, just for a moment - what if he had really hurt the kid? 

The old theatre appeared out of the night, spottily lit by street lamps. This was it. Batman pulled over and found a place to park, out of sight from the building. Deliberately, he relaxed his body, toes first, then feet, lower and upper legs, stomach, torso, shoulders, arms, hands and fingers. Last, neck and face. And most important, focus the mind, rid himself of troubling thoughts, anger, and self-doubt. All that mattered for now was the fight ahead. And he was ready. 

- - -

It was a beautiful old place, Batman noted with some corner of his consciousness. Or had been before time, dirt, and neglect had taken their course. Originally a luxurious playhouse, with a balcony and opera boxes looking down to the stage, it had fallen on hard times when the neighborhood it was in went downhill and movies became popular. Now it was a decaying shell, its stage forever empty, home to insects and rats - both the four-legged and two-legged varieties. 

The main theatre seemed empty through the infrared goggles he used briefly, and by the muted illumination of the glow lights he quickly stuck on the walls as he passed. Only dust, and the memories of better days. Rows of empty seats. Silence. He reached the stage, now hidden by heavy velvet curtains, and stopped to think. 

There would be back rooms, a maze of them. Offices, storerooms, dressing rooms unused for many years. Plenty of places for the Joker to hide. Starting with the stage itself. It would be typical of the Joker to be up there, behind the curtains, at the focal point of the room. That would appeal to his vanity and sense of theatricality. 

Batman stared up, trying to decide the best way to get through the drapes. Maybe a back entrance... The thought died as he realized the lights were coming on. He ducked behind a column, looked for better cover, and headed through the shadows for a doorway in the back without waiting to see what was happening. 

_"I know you're out there..."_

It floated through the still air, that hated voice. Batman could imagine the white face of his enemy, red lips in that grotesque, perpetual grin, laughing at him. He fought back the anger; emotion had no place here, on the battlefield. Inside the doorway he found a staircase, leading up into darkness. He turned, and looked back. 

The lights were still coming up, and the curtains were slowly opening. A line of forms took shape out of the dimness, there was movement, but none of them left the spots they were standing in. There was something artificial about them... Batman stayed where he was just long enough to identify them before soundlessly starting up the stairs. The stolen mechanical figures: the antique clown, the animated Santa Claus, a collection of elves and reindeer. All going through their programmed movements. 

_"I'm so glad you could attend my little Christmas party, Batman. The other guests have arrived. Come on in and join the fun!"_

At the balcony level he stopped again. The Joker knew he was here, that much was obvious. How good was his surveillance? Cameras? They could have spotted him from outside, but would be next to useless in the darkness. Infrared motion sensors? He reached into his belt for one of the more specialized pieces of equipment he had brought for the occasion, a tiny mechanical car with an attached heat source. Hopefully it would serve to confuse them. He set it on the floor and watched it slowly move off. 

He could go out into a box above the stage, then leap down - but he hadn't seen the Joker himself. He could be anywhere. Or not - his voice was being amplified somehow. Where would the microphone for a sound system logically be? 

_"Oh, come now, Batman, stop skulking in the shadows and come out. You're being a party poop."_

Plays had been shown here before the days of microphones, when the actors were expected to fill the house with their unassisted voices. Later, it would have had a speaker system for musicals. Maybe a microphone for announcements. But where? One of the offices... But no, he realized almost immediately. The Joker wouldn't put on his little show if he didn't have a good view of the stage. 

_"I think you should come show me your appreciation of the nice present I gave you. Life is so much better without those two hangers-on, isn't it? Sorry I didn't quite manage to rid you of both of them."_

Stay in control... He fought back the anger. The Joker was baiting him, trying to get him to reveal himself prematurely. 

_"I admit Batwoman - or rather sweet little Kathy - was really quite decorative. A shame she's worm food now. On the other hand, Nightwing is rather decorative himself, if you're inclined that way."_

If the Joker had been in sight, Batman knew he would have attacked him mindlessly. He forced himself back to calmness. It was only words. _Don't react. Don't give him what he wants._ He reached the farthest box opening off the balcony corridor and slid in though a velvet curtain, staying in the shadows, peering out to the stage below. 

Had that been movement at the far end of the stage, towards the back? Quickly he slipped on the infrared goggles. The line of animated figures showed up as dim red, but there were brighter spots where he had seen someone move. Two of them, disappearing into the stairway up to the balcony. They knew he was up here, and were coming to find him. There were probably another two on their way up the stairs on his end of the stage. 

He sent another mobile heat source on its way before his eyes rose to the wall above the stage. There would be open space back there, hidden from the audience, walkways, ladders, beams, ropes by which props and even actors could be raised and lowered, up where the lights wouldn't reach. More of the Joker's men might be up there... but it was his own natural environment; he could move faster and more silently than they could, and motion detectors would have trouble in that large area full of obstacles. 

_"Come to think of it, Batboy hasn't been in evidence lately. Did I succeed in ridding you of him after all?"_

There had been a door at the end of the corridor, leading in the direction of the stage. Quickly, he left the box and tried it. Locked. But it took only a few seconds for him to pick the lock and duck through, even as he heard footsteps behind him. 

It was like entering another world, one of dark space above, crisscrossed by narrow walkways, and the stage below. The front was almost bright now, lit mostly by small spotlights on the mechanical figures. They probably hadn't been able to find many lights that still worked. 

Carefully, Batman scanned with his infrared goggles. There was one spot of warmth. Someone was above him, on a high catwalk. He'd be facing out towards the stage. Silently Batman began to work his way nearer, careful to stay low and behind as many obstacles as he could manage. The bright spot in the red view through his goggles didn't move. Probably not using infrared. Not expecting him, when the others thought he was still on the balcony. 

And now he could see him. He was sitting on the catwalk, legs dangling, the barrel of a compact machine gun projecting over the railing. Easy enough to throw a rope around the weapon and disarm him, but that would mean noise, and the others would know where he was. Luckily the walkway had a solid floor, which meant he had a quieter way. A reach into his belt, a flip of the wrist, and a tiny gas pellet landed two feet away from his target. There was only a tiny thump and then a barely audible hiss. The man was unconscious before he could figure out where it was coming from. 

It took a few moments to swing himself up and leave the Joker's henchman handcuffed and gagged, then down again, to descend towards the stage. Staying in the shadows, he glided over beams and walkways, found a prop rope and slid down it. Crouched next to a spotlight, he surveyed the situation again. 

_"Where are you, Batman?"_ The Joker's voice was petulant now._ "I want my party, and I'm getting tired of waiting. These were the only people who would come, besides you, of course. I admit they're animated, but they're not much for conversation."_

Ah... A flash of green in the unlit orchestra pit. It was him, the white of his face showing clearly as he looked up, for an unsettling moment seeming to stare directly at Batman. Then the Joker was looking into the wings, where four men had appeared from the stairwell, and gestured at them impatiently. They must have given up the search on the balcony, and hadn't yet figured out where he was. Batman peered more closely at them as they looked around the theatre uncertainly, recognizing a face. Joe Malek. Still working for the Joker after all, just as he had suspected. 

It was time to stop playing around.

He swung a line over his head and tossed it forward, to wrap around a support beam a few yards above and farther over the stage. The hook at the end caught. After testing it with a tug, Batman reached into his belt again. A quick movement, and two pellets arced through the air to land in the midst of the four henchmen. The gas sent them reeling away, scattering across the end of the stage. Three collapsed limply, and Malek staggered out of sight. They should stay unconscious long enough. No gas for the Joker. No, Batman had other plans for him. 

And of course he was already fleeing, jerking open a door in the front of the orchestra pit and dashing through, even as Batman slid down his line, swinging far enough out towards the seats to drop into the pit, hit the floor and come up running. He forced himself to slow down enough for caution as he found himself in a dimly lit corridor with several doors opening off it. Then he turned a corner and caught sight of his quarry. 

The chase went on around another turn, up a flight of stairs, into a stretch of discarded backstage props and scenery and into the empty back of the stage, the inert bodies of the men Batman had knocked out still where he had left them. There was just enough light to see by as the Joker whirled and faced him, red lips twisted in a savage snarl. They stared at each other. 

"I don't suppose you'd care to give up?" Batman asked. 

"I don't suppose you'd let me." The mirthless grin was back as the Joker answered. "No, you're out for blood this time." 

"Can you blame me?" Batman took a step closer. 

"Not at all. I think we understand each other perfectly." The grin widened. "You beat my location out of one of my employees, just as I knew you would." 

"He gave you up too easily. The whole thing was a setup. You were expecting me tonight." 

"Right! I suspected you would figure that out. Yet you didn't tell the police, or anyone else, did you? You wanted me all to yourself this time. So you could do what you've wanted to do ever since I eliminated your charming Bat-female and almost did the same for your little Bat-buddy." 

"Don't be so sure." 

"Ah, but I know how you think, Batman. You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" 

"I..." He wanted to. He wanted desperately to crush the life from the Joker, as the image of Kathy's face came to him, the way she had looked that last time, her empty eyes staring at nothing. Was that really why he hadn't called in the police, to make sure there would be no one to stop him? And why _not_ kill the Joker? Send him back to jail and he might escape again, and kill again. Surely the lives of his future victims were more important than his own miserable existence. It would be so easy... The cops wouldn't even try to find the killer; he could do it, and get away with it, and it wouldn't even be morally wrong... 

"That's right, Batman." The Joker's voice was a low murmur now, almost seductive in tone. He came a step closer. "You want to kill me. You'd be protecting the people I might hurt in the future. Not to mention getting that final, sweet revenge. Go on, admit it. Do it. Hit me, beat me, wrap that rope of yours around my neck and pull it tight..." 

"Are you so eager to die?" 

The Joker's arms swept wide, indicating the theatre around them. "Life's a play, Batman, and all the players only shadows. We strut our fleeting moments upon the stage and then... disappear. All that matters is what we leave behind, our legacy to the world, what we give it to remember us by. What better way for me to go than by your hand? What better fate than to be the great Batman's first murder victim?" 

He came even closer, his eyes intent, his voice soft and intimate. "What I'm eager for is to hear you finally admit that I'm the one who understands you best. That we're reflections of each other, mirror images, identical yet reversed. I want you to realize just how much alike we are. How different we both are from the 'normal' masses of humanity. How superior. No normal standards of morality for us; we can't be restricted by the law or by what others think is right and wrong. Yes, you'll kill me... and the moment you do, you'll know, once and for all, that it's all true." 

_Was_ it true? He had always dismissed the idea as the Joker's insane fantasy... and yet, if he killed in cold blood, no matter who, no matter what the reason, maybe that _would_ mean they were alike, that he had the same capacity for cold-hearted murder that the man facing him did. The idea was like ice water in his veins, abruptly cooling the fire of revenge. 

"You're wrong," he said. "I'm taking you in. No one's going to die today." 

Again they stared at each other, the Joker's green eyes lighting with anger. "You disappoint me, Batman," he said softly. "And I get very cranky when I'm disappointed." 

The Joker's hand moved, throwing something to the floor between them. He whirled. Batman saw more gas puff as he threw himself forward, with a quick motion pulling a compact respirator from his belt and slapping it into his mouth. Another precaution he had taken; only a hint of the 'laughing gas' got through. 

They crashed to the floor as he tackled his opponent around the knees. The Joker twisted onto his back and kicked with all the surprising speed and strength of his lanky form. Batman winced at a blow in the stomach, but kept going, scrambling to his knees, grabbing the Joker by his shirtfront and hauling him up to his feet. He swung a punch into that white face, hard, ignoring the shock of impact in his knuckles, then another. There was a noise behind him, a footstep, as the Joker reeled. Batman turned and saw Malek, the one who had disappeared, gun in hand and aimed at him. 

"This is for using me as a punching bag," he snarled, finger tightening on the trigger. 

Batman hit the floor - but the shot never came. He saw something small and dark fly out of the air above, hitting Malek's wrist, making him drop the weapon with a curse. In another instant a loop of rope whirled down, falling around Malek, lassoing him and pinning his arms to his sides. It tightened, squeezing a yelp out of him as it dragged him up off his feet. 

The Joker was running again... Batman leaped after him, caught him, spun him around. A side-kick to the hip knocked him against the wall of the theatre, to bounce back into a fist. With a moan, he crumpled. 

Batman stood and stared down at him for a moment, catching his breath. Then up, to check on the others, all still unconscious, except for Malek who was now helpless and suspended a foot above the floor by the rope around him. And finally, he raised his gaze into the spaces above. 

As he had known it would be, a shadowy form stood on a catwalk looking down, black and midnight blue against the dimness. For a moment Batman almost felt as if he was back in a dirty alleyway, looking up at a rooftop and a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to help him. This was exactly the way they had first seen each other - how long ago? Seemed like a lifetime. Their eyes met for a few seconds. Then Nightwing stepped back and melted into the emptiness. 

- - -

  
TBC... 


	9. Curtain Call

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Kathy Kane/Batwoman, Barbara and James Gordon, the Joker, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG-13 : violence, language, sexuality, some mature concepts. 

Author's notes: Many thanks as always to my beta, Cecilia, and to Rach for betaing the action sequences, especially chapter 8. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, the encouragement means a lot to me! 

To a large extent this AU series has been my effort to blend the older and newer versions of Batman and Robin/Nightwing in a coherent and believable way, especially the story of how the team broke up and later reconciled. The canon version of that breakup from Batman 408 just made no sense at all. Why would Bruce suddenly decide that being Robin was too dangerous for Dick to do anymore? Why would he do it when Dick was at least nineteen, and after he had come close to death many times before? Most of all, why would he barely wait for Dick to be out the door before taking on a younger, less qualified Robin? Then, Jason Todd was killed. You'd think Batman would be through with partners at that point, but no, he very soon had another teenager as the new Robin. Now the pattern has repeated: Tim Drake left, Stephanie Brown took over and promptly got herself killed too. Lots of dramatics, no logic. 

I realize this version has now been revised (and probably will be again!) but the new one doesn't seem much better, with Bruce now 'firing' Dick for not being around enough. Anyway, I thought such a drastic break between two people who obviously care for each other very much had to have more motivation behind it, so I made my own version. I hope you like the results. 

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 

**Silent Night**

* * *

Curtain Call

- - -

For the second time in two days he had a sense of déjà vu, as he stood in the same small apartment he had first visited almost a year ago. He had come this time as Bruce Wayne, knocked on the door instead of forcing a window; when there was no answer he had let himself in with the key Dick had given him, intending to wait. But waiting would do no good this time. The furniture was still there. But the closets and drawers were empty, the personal items had disappeared. The apartment was empty and abandoned. Dick Grayson was gone. 

After his showdown with the Joker was over and the police had come and relieved him of his prisoners, he had headed home, changed clothes in the silence of the Batcave, tended to a few cuts and scrapes, and finally climbed the stairs to his house. He had gone to the room Dick was using, intending to explain, to make another attempt to persuade him, this time using reason instead of orders, guilt, and violence. Even more, he had wanted to apologize and try to make amends. But the door had been standing open, the room empty, Dick's things gone. He hadn't needed Alfred's accusing eyes or the set of house keys left on the night table to tell him what had happened. So in the morning he had come here, with the same intentions, and the same result. 

For a moment Bruce was angry, his mind filling again with thoughts of ingratitude. Dick had abandoned him, run out when he needed him most... _Need?_ _When did I start needing anyone?_ But try as he might, he couldn't quite find it in his heart to blame Dick. Instead he found himself wondering how he would have felt if someone tried to force _him_ to stop being Batman, to give up the thing that gave his life meaning and had become such an ingrained part of him that he couldn't imagine separating himself from it. 

No wonder Dick had fought back. No wonder he had left. He wasn't a quitter; he would go on doing what he thought was right, whether or not he had to do it alone. And he had been right that it was his decision to make. He had an iron core of strength that didn't always show on the surface, but was always there to carry him through. A surge of pride lifted Bruce's spirits momentarily - the kind of pride a father would feel for his son. 

Too little, too late. Too little understanding of Dick's character; too late to tell Kathy how he felt, or even to say goodbye. He had lost both of them, in different ways. Kathy was gone forever. Now Dick was too. Nothing left but this empty, silent room. 

Where would the kid go? Bruce knew instinctively that Dick would have too much pride to stay in Gotham after being told to get out. What would he do, with no home, no job, and not much money? _Not my problem,_ he tried to tell himself. But it didn't work, the bright, sharp knife of guilt entered his heart anyway. What could he do about it? Search, find him, make sure he was all right. But if Dick really didn't want to be found, it could take a long time and a great deal of effort and might result in nothing. If he didn't want to be found - maybe it would be better to leave things this way. Dick was a survivor. He'd always land on his feet. 

For a moment Bruce thought he could almost see them before him, the three of them: Batman, Nightwing, and Batwoman, together. They had been quite a team, he could see that now. He let the vision dim and disappear. It was over. Heavily, he turned to the door, walked through it, and closed it behind him with a final click. 

Batman had begun his career alone. He would end it the same way. Alone. 

- End -

  
The series will be continued in _Chilled_. 


End file.
